


Shadow Over Santa Cruz

by DJClawson



Series: Child of the Cosmos [2]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Backstory, Established Relationship, Gen, M/M, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-24 06:00:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/936234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DJClawson/pseuds/DJClawson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil and Carlos travel to California to meet Cecil's family for the first time. Both sides get more than they expected. Sequel to "The Night Vale Horror."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't like to leave readers hanging, but updates will not be every day like last time, as I'm traveling a bit in the next week or two. There will be at least six chapters. Also there's a lot of fluff in the first half of this one.

Shadow over Santa Cruz

Chapter 1

“Mr. Cecil! You have mail!”

When he realized the new intern (her name was Laura, or Lara, or something with an L and two syllables) was right, he was genuinely surprised. He did get mail, but only certain kinds. When Station Management spit out another red envelope for HR retraining, it was silently presented to him if he didn’t see it first or, if he could not be found, placed politely in his station box and then not commented on again. And he got loads of other mail to, from concerned citizens – emails, texts, Facebook posts, notes slipped under the door to his apartment – but never in the mail slot in the break room labeled CECIL BALDWIN, BROADCASTER. The postal system was too unreliable and people did not like coming to the station in person if they could avoid just to leave him a note, especially after what he’d said on the air about Station Management, or what he was told he’d said, but couldn’t actually remember, the sign of another re-training session. This happened to him at least once every few months, so he didn’t worry about it. It went with the job.

But there it was, in the mail/break/cemetery room, in his slot. And it was only a bit red, on the left side, where it was stained with blood after address labels and stamps were applied and now mostly obscured. And it was addressed to him, with the correct zip code that very few people (himself included) knew about. He would have tried to open it more conventionally, but a dagger was required to serve as a letter-opener because the sealant on the back was infested with black glue and dozens of rows of – he had to admit – somewhat adorable teeth. This also looked like a new addition to the presentation.

It was handwritten and in cursive, and he was embarrassed by how long it took him to read it.

 

> Dear Cecil,
> 
> I’ve spoken to your siblings and we would very much like you to come to our Thanksgiving weekend in Santa Cruz. Thomas has a time share with a massive house on the beach and it’s the only time of year we’re all in the same place. They are very eager to meet you, so I hope that this letter gets to you, and that you are able to come, though I would be very understanding if you couldn’t. You can bring your friend Carlos if you want. We would also like to have him. And if you don’t know what Thanksgiving is, ask him.
> 
> Please know when I say that as much as everyone would like to meet you, I will be very understanding if you can’t come. Carlos said you have never left Night Vale. I don’t want to get you in trouble with your hometown. Your happiness is very important to me.
> 
> Love,
> 
> Mom

Other people in his life had signed things with the word “love” before but rarely, and in emails or texts. This was the first time he could remember since writing instruments were banned that he could remember anyone writing him a letter and signing it that way. His heart fluttered but at the same did so with a bit of sorrow.

Sure he could leave Night Vale if he wanted to! He’d been to Europe, whatever Carlos might have to say about that idea.

“So? Who’s it from?”

It wasn’t just Laura/Lara/Laurel talking. When he looked up from what was apparently a longer silence than it should haven taken to read a short letter _all_ the station interns were there, including a couple ghosts. When had he hired so many of them?

“Oh, it’s from my mom,” he said as nonchalantly as possible, folding the letter neatly before stuffing it hastily in his shirt pocket. This broke the anticipation bubble, and he realized that they were probably all too young to know that his mother was an Outsider, and only knew her from the various foster moms he quoted on the radio, all of which possibly had prophetic powers but were in conflict about how he would someday die.

He wanted to call Carlos, but his phone was bugged and he didn’t feel like having this conversation with Carlos _and_ the Sheriff’s Secret Police. Not at this exact moment, anyway, when he had notes to complete for the show. He was absent-minded about them, and it took him so long that by the time he had them ready, there was only a minute to air. He went methodically through the show, running more on automatic than usual perhaps, but managed to perk it up with some commentary about PTA’s “no excessive blood loss” policy, which prevented lively discussion and perhaps prevented the Sheriff’s Secret Police from adequately doing their jobs. The rest went mechanically, with some pre-recorded messages, the weather, and something he threw together about the moon, one of his favorite topics and one of Carlos’s least favorite topics to listen to Cecil discuss, he remembered belatedly. Well, too bad. He was a journalist. He faced hard facts, and sometimes it meant relaying them to a grieving public and sometimes it meant kicking them in the face.

After work, he decided to go with the obvious and assume Carlos was still in his lab. He was correct, of course. The beautiful, perfect scientist was probing something with a lot of fur in an empty fish tank, but he didn’t seem to be hurting it. Carlos would never do that. “Hi. Give me a minute. I found this at the bottom of a bottle of expired aspirin.”

“That must have been a large bottle.”

“It wasn’t this size when I took it out.” Carlos pulled back a half-eaten ruler and tossed it on the pile on the desk. “I think it likes rulers and I’m out. Looks like I should close up for the night. But not more than twelve hours, because there’s bacteria growing in the mini-fridge.” He set the timer on his Night Vale-purchased plastic watch. “I’m really sorry, but I need to take a disinfectant shower.”

Cecil raised his eyebrows. “I’m fine with that.”

Carlos removed his gloves. “Not that kind of shower. The one where you get dangerous stuff off your body so you don’t spread bacteria.”

So no, he couldn’t join him. Sad.

He did grab the opportunity while Carlos was in the shower, with the curtain separating them, to sit down on a stool. “I need to talk to you. Keep the water running.”

“That’s illegal,” Carlos shouted with an amused voice.

“I know, but ...” And he did feel guilty about it, even if Carlos was just amused. “I got a letter from my mother.”

“Really? It made it to Night Vale?”

“Well, most of it did.” Telling him about the physical condition of it would just set off another bout of scientific curiosity and possibly some more decontamination, but he didn’t have the right permits for a co-shower with his partner. Seeing the outline of Carlos’s body in the shower, even though the curtain was pretty thick, made him realize how badly he needed to get one. “She invited us to Thanksgiving in Santa Cruz. Her son has a time share there and everyone will be there for the weekend.”

“’Us’?”

“She said you were welcome to come.” He didn’t really understand why Carlos was hesitant at first to talk about their relationship to other people, or hold hands in public. It took a long discussion to explain that he was not ashamed of Cecil, but that his experience was very different growing up, for reasons he either couldn’t tell him or didn’t want to tell him. So maybe Carlos hadn’t said they were dating. It still seemed like a silly thing to leave out of introductions. “What do you think?”

“I think it sounds wonderful,” Carlos answered. “But I assume from the way you’re telling me this information that you have some reservations about leaving Night Vale. Or some other people might have reservations.”

“It’s not _illegal_ ,” he emphasized. “I just have to get a reentry permit. And go through re-education when I get back.” Carlos had turned the water down a little so Cecil could almost whisper what had been hiding in the back of his mind all day. “They might take away my memories of it.”

Carlos pulled back the curtain enough to hang his glorious, waterlogged head and upper arm out in the open. “Would they do it to me?”

“I don’t know. Probably not. Outsiders are so fragile.”

“Well, even if they do, it would mean a lot to your family, right? And they can’t take away _their_ memories.” Carlos frowned. “For all this town does to you, it _owes_ you this. Night Vale owes you a lot more than a long weekend, actually. But that’s just my Outsider opinion.”

“Would you go with me?”

“Cecil,” Carlos answered in his most reassuring tone. “ _Of course_ I would go with you. Why would you think otherwise?”

After Carlos finished showering and drying his lovely, beautiful hair, they went out to dinner at Arby’s, where the staff made a good effort at gluten-free bread. Also, all of the non-franchise restaurants were on fire again in a string of unrelated electrical problems. Cecil mentioned it in the show.

It would be, theoretically, very easy to leave Night Vale. The reentry forms were not difficult to fill out and the price was probably some redundant part of his body anyway. “It could always be rejected,” he said, sifting through the curly fries for one that looked especially crisp.

“You’re afraid to leave Night Vale.” It was a statement, not a question. “You’ve never left town and you’re afraid.”

It managed to muster a little spirit in him. “I went to Europe.”

“Europe has mountains, Cecil. Hundreds of them.”

“How do you know? Have _you_ ever been to Europe?”

“I’ve seen pictures. Of Europe. They have hills and mountains and volcanoes.”

“Oh, my dear Carlos, how do you not know about Photoshop?” Cecil shook his head. He knew Carlos would be endlessly obstinate about this. “I am not afraid.”

“Good, because there’s no reason to be.” Carlos was scribbling on the placemat with ketchup as the ink and a fry as the pen. “Santa Cruz is a lot _safer_ than Night Vale. Maybe not as interesting, but safer.”

“You think I should go.”

“I think,” Carlos said with much care, “you would regret not going.”

            ****************************************

The next day, Carlos made a trip out of town. He was getting pretty good at navigating around the void, temporary volcanoes, and mirages of roads that would lead him off a cliff – the standard issue items to keep people in or out of Night Vale. The City Hall-issued purple sticker in the corner of his windshield helped a lot, as did his copious tipping of highway workers who always seemed to be standing protectively around a massive tarp.

There was a gas station two exits away that had a phone booth. Since the proprietor had never heard of Night Vale, Carlos was pretty sure it wasn’t tapped, and most importantly it was a reliable outside line.

The phone number he was given was actually Tom Kowalski’s cell phone. “Hi. It’s Carlos. I’m at a payphone outside Night Vale. Can you call me back?” Fortunately the return number listed on the phone did not, like the phone booths in Night Vale, have symbols that were not letters or numbers. A lot of people seemed to have land lines with infinity symbols.

Tom’s voice was not like Cecil’s, but it was close, at least to his normal speaking voice and not the radio voice. “So he got the letter? We sent a bunch. They’re all the same.”

“He got it at work. Caused a lot of commotion, actually, because it was hand-written. Writing utensils are not allowed in Night Vale.”

“Then how do you – “

“It’s very irritating,” he explained, not wanting to run up a phone bill. “He’d like to come. We’d both like to come. But he needs to get permission for reentry and that might be a little tricky.”

“That’s got to be illegal,” said a very reasonable Tom, who had never been to or lived in Night Vale. “They can’t hold you hostage. He knows that, right?”

“He can leave, but not being able to come back to this community would be ... disastrous for him. So he put in the paperwork. And legally, yes, you can be banned from an area, by restraining order.” Not that the Sheriff’s Secret Police would bother with that. “We should know in about a week. And thanks for inviting me, by the way.”

“So I don’t think Mom knows, but I kinda figured you guys were – something.”

“Partners.”

“Right. Do they have Thanksgiving where you live?”

“I grew up in Harlem, but it wasn’t a big deal. Here, I’m not really sure. It seems to involve hiding under the bed for a good portion of the day.”

“Do they eat turkey?”

“It’s not much fun to have a heavy meal under the bed. Not a lot of room down there.”

Tom took a moment to process that, or whatever he did on the other end of the line, and he reminded Carlos of himself. “So you’ll let us know?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell him we really want to see you. Everyone wants to meet him. But if he doesn’t get his permit, you know, play it down.”

“I understand. I’ll call, okay? Whatever the decision is.”

“Great. Oh, and he isn’t a vegetarian, is he?”

“He likes his meat still moving,” Carlos said, but did not elaborate on how literal he was being.

            ****************************************

On Monday Cecil called from work, and asked for a ride home. It was a slightly unusual request, but Carlos didn’t think much of it before he spotted Cecil sitting on his own car in the lot, holding the side of his chin and looking paler than usual.

“I’m just really tired,” he explained, trying to ward off his boyfriend’s prying hands. As he put his own down he revealed a large bandage taped down over neck, just under the ear. “The City Council sent over someone to complete my application during the weather.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yes.” Cecil got into Carlos’s car. “Thanks for the lift.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Cecil said, sounding a little annoyed. “I’m supposed to eat something with sugar in it, and then I want to go to sleep.”

Carlos decided to obey him. Cecil often thought Carlos’s probing was silly, and he did sound like he was not in the mood to be good-natured about scientific or medical curiosity tonight. He found a box of vanilla wafers in Cecil’s pantry and coaxed them into his mouth as Cecil made it from the kitchen to the bedroom and in short order was very much as sleep, his breathing seemingly in time with that new black stain that was throbbing on the wall above the kitten calendar. Carlos only checked to see that the wound was not still bleeding, then set in for some unsettled, anxious drifting beside him.

In the morning Cecil thankfully looked find, the bandage removed and replaced with a simple band-aid. He was already making eggs when Carlos put on a bathrobe and joined him. “Good morning.” His phone buzzed, and he looked at the message and put it aside. “Ugh. I slurred on the show last night. I hate it when I do that.”

“You might have had a good reason.”

“That’s no excuse. I’m a professional.”

“What did they take?” Because you didn’t need that kind of wound for blood, and you wouldn’t take it from a neck artery.

“You know. This and that.”

Carlos drank his coffee, knowing full well that was the end of the answer. “I got through to your brother yesterday. He said they’d like to have you, but only if you won’t get in trouble with the town.” It was a slight rephrasing that was better for Cecil.

Cecil chuckled. “My brother.” Like the phrase was in a strange alien language and he was just trying it out, wondering how it would sound. “How is he?”

“He’s fine. He asked if you were a vegetarian.”

“What’s a vegetarian?”

Carlos had no reason to think he was joking. “It’s a person who doesn’t eat meat because of ethical reasons. Or religious reasons. Or to annoy their families.”

Cecil gave him a queer look, and Carlos just shook his head. Sometimes he didn’t feel like explaining things _either_.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Wednesday was cancelled again because the City Council hadn’t fixed the bug in their scheduling app, so there were two Thursdays, the second one being the only real one. It was on that day, when things were on schedule because the day existed and the town operated normally and not like it was preparing for a class-5 hurricane, that Carlos decided to go out to a safe distance from the Whispering Forest and take new soil samples and if he could get it, maybe a seed. His noise-canceling headphones were clamped on, something he blamed for when he heard nothing until he felt a blow to the back of his head. The headphones were removed, a black bag draped over his head, and his hands cuffed behind him before he could protest. He made an attempt as they dragged him into what was probably an unmarked van, but the bag was pretty thick and he wasn’t really much of a fighter. In gym class he’d been voted “Least Valuable Player” for the volleyball team, but that was really just because he just hated volleyball.

The ride was fast and made a lot of probably unnecessary turns to make him lose track of the road, as if he didn’t know he was being driven to the break room at the Payless Shoe Store. He was dizzy and nauseous when they carried him out, shouting all kinds of code words to each other before dumping him in a metal folding chair. His legs were cuffed to the button rung and the bag finally torn off. The glare from the uncovered incandescent light bulb swing just above him set off what was sure to be a migraine later.

Sitting across from him he could see, once they replaced his half-shattered glasses and his eyes refocused, was Deputy Sheriff Mitchell, with his normally pleasing demeanor and hair creased flat across his balding dome by the ten-gallon cowboy hat he normally war. “Hi.”

“Hello.” He was – well, not friends with this man, but certainly acquaintances. The kind of person he would smile politely at when passing on the street and maybe exchange greetings if they were on the same side of the road. But that was only because of the nature of the small town and Cecil. Carlos knew that Cecil and Mitchell had been just two grades apart in school and in the same scouting troop (there only being one). He knew that they genuinely liked each other, even if they didn’t always have a lot in common.

He knew all this because he was once eating lunch with Cecil at the moonlight diner and the Deputy Sheriff, sans balaclava, came in for coffee and stopped by their booth to say hello, and joined them for a few minutes. Carlos had only mumbled a few phrases, but Cecil asked about Mitchell’s kids (he had six) and how the post office might be refurnished, and other small town gab. Then Mitchell put his head-covering back on and leapt out the window to deal with something. Cecil put his eyes to his plate and told Carlos to do the same.

“Can I get you something? Water? Coffee?”

“Um, no thanks.”

Mitchell sipped at his Dunkin Donuts super cup. “I know the ride here isn’t great for the stomach. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

“It’s fine.” Even though it wasn’t fine, and he didn’t really like being here, and strained against the handcuffs. “You could have just called. Or stopped by. Or whispered into my window.”

“Lacks a little dramatic effect, don’t you think?” Mitchell was as cheery as ever. “Now I know you’ve got experiments to get back to so I won’t dilly dally. We know you’re a smart cookie so you probably know why you’re here.”

He hadn’t been called a ‘smart cookie’ since he was nine, but it was still an accurate guess. “Cecil’s application. I assume nothing was wrong with it.”

“Nope, he sure likes to cross his P’s and dot his Q’s, if you know what I mean. Sometimes I think he knows those forms better than I do. Been fined a couple times for not renewing my license to own a sentient lawn mower. But that’s what I get for not putting it on the calendar, right?”

“You need him back,” Carlos continued, a combination of bored and annoyed. “But you’re not worried he’ll come back. That isn’t the issue. And if you were worried about Cecil’s loyalty you wouldn’t have taken me hostage because my name is on the form for the trip. So you need me to ... talk him out of it.”

Mitchell tapped the side of his head and nodded to a black-clad man guarding the door. “I knew I wasn’t wrong about you. Are you sure you don’t want anything to drink? Are you hungry?”

“No, I’m just tied to a chair, that’s all.” _That’s all_. He rolled his eyes. “I suppose you have a good reason for Cecil not to be allowed to see his family?”

“It’s not so much that.” Mitchell sighed, and made a signal. Someone from behind Carlos brought him a manila folder and he set it on his lap. “This is not about anyone he might be related to. This is not even really about Night Vale. This is about Cecil.”

The folder was very large. Carlos didn’t know exactly how many records they kept on their townsfolk, but he knew an overstuffed folder when he saw one. The pages were not perfectly arranged, some of them sticking out and bent or shoved in sideways. There were smudges from ink and coffee and maybe blood on the outside. Mitchell opened it, but not at an angle that Carlos could see anything.

“Night Vale loves Cecil. It wouldn’t have accepted him as the Voice of Night Vale if it didn’t. It protects him from people who would harm him, because there will always be people like that. And it protects him from himself.”

“Cecil is not a violent person,” Carlos said.

“He doesn’t mean to be, I’m sure. But he can cause a ruckus when he’s upset. Have you ever seen him upset? And not just cryin’ on the radio because you’ve got twenty tiny surface-to-air missiles sticking out of your back. Upset as in mad. Feeling like he needs to do something about it.”

Carlos thought and no, he could not think of what Mitchell was talking about. He got unreasonably annoyed by Steve Carlsberg, but he never actually did anything other than bad-mouth his opinions and possibly set his tires on fire. “No.”

“The Cecil you know is a very nice guy. He was always a very nice guy, but this guy’s a calm one. He loves the town and he loves the City Council and he even loves us,” he said, meaning the secret police. “But he was different when he was younger. Not so complacent. Not really ideal for us.”

Carlos could not imagine it, and he said so. “Cecil has always been an upstanding citizen of Night Vale. He’s said it on the radio.” And he _believed it_ , Carlos was sure.

“That is certainly what he thinks,” Mitchell chuckled sadly. “And it’s better for him to think that way. It makes it easier on all of us. But when he was younger, before he worked at the station ... he was different. And I don’t blame him. Night Vale is a hard place to live no matter how much you love it. So many rules to keep track of, and so much difficulty keeping them straight. A young man’s likely to chafe a bit under that, when he feels like he’s starting out fresh in the world and trying to make something of himself. When he’s old enough that no one’s telling him what to do anymore.”

“But Cecil ...” Cecil didn’t know because they’d made him forget. Over and over, probably. Carlos unintentionally shifted against his restraints when his limbs tightened in anger, and it made a clinking sound. “That’s why he thinks he was in Europe.”

“He did travel – but I can’t really talk about that. But it got to be that way, when there’s so many holes you have to start patching them up. It’s as hard as it sounds, when you’re trying to preserve the person – “

“ _You did this to him_ ,” Carlos snarled. “He thinks you’re his _friend_.”

“I didn’t expect you to understand,” Mitchell replied in a softer voice, but without much give. “But in this town, I might be the best friend he has. He’s still a functioning human being, isn’t he?”

“How much did you steal from him? A year? Five years? A decade?”

“We did what we had to do.” The Deputy Sheriff showed no hint of remorse. “To protect our citizens and to protect Cecil. You’re going to have to accept that, whether you like it or not. You could tell him, but what would that do, exactly? If anything, it would just upset him. It would make him regret things he will never know he’s done. Hell, it might start the whole spiral again. He’s certainly the most resilient citizen in town. We have the records to prove it.”

He plucked one photo from the messy collection and set it down on the coffee table between them. “That’s what he looked like the last time we picked him up.”

It took Carlos a moment to realize what he was looking at. The grass, the building in the background, the figure in front –

The Deputy’s men were very quick to respond, one of them lifting his chair and pushing it forward and the other providing a waste bin, because otherwise he would have vomited all over his shirt and pants and maybe the folder, too. They were very patient with him, and give him something to gargle with. He was still shivering and sweating at the same time.

He would not be telling Cecil about this part of the day. Cecil, whom he had to struggle to imagine as Cecil, the man he loved, who was right now probably recording something, or going over his notes, or casually eating lunch in his office, or anything else ... Carlos shut his eyes and shut everything else away and just gave himself that image and nothing else, and he settled down.

Mitchell was not in a rush. “So.”

Carlos was still gasping for air. “Why do you think it will – why do you think the outside – what about the outside world? What will it do to him?”

“We don’t know that, do we? But what we do know that is that you take him out of here, and go to Santa Cruz or God-knows-where, we’re not going to be able to help you. And hell, I’m really only pretending to care about you – we’re not going to be able to help Cecil. And we _do_ want to help him. You have to understand that. You’re not leaving here until you understand that.”

“Train me.”

“We don’t have the time.”

“Thanksgiving is a month away.”

"We don’t have the time and you don’t have the disposition. How do I put it? You’ve spent your life looking at things right in front of you, not things in the corners of your vision.”

Carlos took a moment to re-gather his strength. “You made him what he is today. Calm, happy. If you did your work so well, he can go to California and see his mother. He’ll be pretty upset if he doesn’t, actually. I can’t take that away from him because _what if_ you did a bad job.”

The Deputy Sheriff sighed. Carlos knew he was right, in a way. In an uncomfortable way they were both right. “Let me tell you what happened to Cecil before he went to Europe.”

Carlos unintentionally looked down, but after the photo was removed. It was being replaced with knew ones. Bloody crime scenes. Bodies not ritually slaughtered but brutally maimed. Houses on fire. It was violence he could sort of deal with, in a way. Okay, not really.

“It wasn’t his fault, really. I like to think it wasn’t his fault. I was just a patrolman on bush duty at the time, so I didn’t see all of it, but I thought I knew him enough that I asked to be more involved. I wanted to help him. He wasn’t beyond help.”

None of the pictures showed Cecil. Carlos wondered what he looked like back then.

 “There ere some people he knew from school – we knew from school – who had kind of figured out what to do with Cecil. How to turn him on or off. I guess he was friends with them because them must have promised him something, and he had a lot of questions about himself. And when it got beyond their control – because it always does, in the end, when you mess with cosmic forces – he wasn’t Cecil anymore. We realized it might be down to him or us, and whatever you think of us, we _do_ serve and protect Night Vale. So it was going to be us, if we could manage it. We didn’t kill him but we sure did try.

“There were so many clouds that night that there were no stars. Not a single one. And this was after the power went out in the town, so not a lot of light pollution. He was laying in a crater and we were trying to figure out whether to keep firing, and I tried to run up to the edge of the crater and look down, but Al stopped me.”

“Algonquin?”

He nodded. “Al was the Voice of Night Vale. He could _do things_. And God damnit, he loved Cecil to pieces. And he was huge at this point, so he shoved me back and told me to hold the rest of them off, and he went into that fiery crater and I’m not sure what he did, but he talked Cecil out of dying. He found what was left of him and called him back. The Voice can do that sort of thing, or Al could. So while I heard the Councilman arguing whether they should make sure to take his head off or not, Al came out carrying Cecil and just walked right past them. He took care of him until Cecil was well enough to talk to us, and if he was going to stay in Night Vale we were going to have to take a lot out of him because he would never forgive himself. But he had to, I don’t know, build up some headspace so he could function again like a big chunk of brain wasn’t hanging out of him, so Al sent him somewhere and he came back a year later. He calls it Europe, and I’m not going to contradict him because what the hell do I know? He might have really gone there.”

Carlos said nothing. He had nothing to say.

“Now I bet your instinct when you get home is still going to be, ‘Tell him everything.’ Because outside Night Vale that’s what you can do. Maybe it’s what you should do. But you tell him first that the Sheriff’s Secret Police told you something about him in confidence, and you see what he says to that. Cecil’s smart. He’s been on the radio a long time now, enough to learn how much information he can handle.”

Carlos felt sick. Not violently so, though he was fairly sure that he could throw up again if he gave it an effort. The taste of bile was still in his mouth and burning his throat. But mostly, he felt sick inside. “Can I go now?”

“Is there anything else we can say?”

“I don’t know. I’m sure you could think of something else to terrify me,” Carlos said. “But Cecil’s an adult. If he wants to go to Santa Cruz to see his mother once before she dies, he can do it. I won’t try to convince him of otherwise. I won’t insult him like that.”

“We might take his memories of it.”

“He knows that. But _she_ would have those memories, and that’s important to him.”

Mitchell closed up the folder and handed it to a guard. “I guess we’ll find out if you know Cecil as well as you think you do. Need anything from us?”

“No.”

“Satisfied with our service?”

“I guess.” It was really the best answer available to him. Behind him, the guard dipped his finger in ink and pressed it to a clipboard. They showed it to him and he nodded in agreement that he’d been properly treated and was satisfied with his temporary confinement.

A thought occurred to him as they unshackled him from the chair. “You’ve never taken any of my memories.”

Mitchell smiled. “If we had, we certainly wouldn’t admit it.”

The bag went back over Carlos’s head, signaling that the meeting was over.

            ****************************************

Carlos couldn’t get any work done for the rest of the day. When they wordlessly dumped him out near the Whispering Forest, he packed up his samples and drove back to the lab, only to stare blankly at his empty monitor for what seemed like hours. The back of his head hurt and there was a bad taste in his mouth no matter how many different liquids he put it in.

They were supposed to have dinner at Cecil’s, but he did not feel very hungry even though logically he should have been. He silently listened to the broadcast from a stool that was far too high for his table, staring at the cheap radio on the shelf and wishing he had beer. Any kind. Maybe they could stock that stuff for people with Celiac’s? When the show was over he went to Cecil’s, bringing with him a few groceries he’d picked up in the morning. As Cecil was busy with what he hoped was some kind of chili, their hellos were sort of perfunctory, and Carlos wasn’t a very good boyfriend, because he just collapsed on the sofa instead of pretending to be excited for the evening. “Do you have anything to drink?”

“I have some cooking sherry,” Cecil said, trying to be helpful. Night Vale had been a beer town. “I think the ghost of my neighbor has scotch.”

“Is it ghost scotch?”

“I didn’t ask her,” Cecil answered. He left whatever was in the pot to boil and walked over to the living room, wearing a ridiculous dog-themed apron. He took Carlos’s hand, and turned it so the inked thumb was upright. “You should wash this out. It won’t look good for people to see it.”

“Don’t you want to know what happened?”

“I assumed that was coming,” Cecil said, looking directly at him. “But you didn’t seem like you wanted to talk yet.”

Carlos give him an appreciate smile and Cecil went looking through his cabinets, eventually finding wine from at least two tenants ago. He lacked the proper glasses and apologized for serving it in a mug. Carlos said he liked it anyway, which he did. He didn’t recognize the vineyard but it was pretty good wine.

“The meeting was about you,” Carlos finally said. His body felt so heavy from the weight of it.

“I was going to guess your pencil stash, but all right,” Cecil said calmly, pouring a bowl of stew that Carlos decided not to probe too deeply before eating, or even ask about. Cecil didn’t ask any further questions.

“It was Mitchell.”

"Was he polite?”

“Um, I guess, yeah.”

“Did he offer you water or food? Because they’re not supposed to let you get dehydrated unless it’s a felony.”

“Yeah, he was fine. He was ... whatever he was supposed to be.” Carlos had spent way too much time thinking about what he was going to say next. Where to start? Or not start at all. “He told me he had some concerns about you leaving Night Vale. And about some of the things you’ve done. He said to tell you it was said in the strictest confidence.”

“Then you _definitely_ shouldn’t tell me,” Cecil said, instantly adamant about it without being rude.

“He said it was for your own good, essentially.”

“Carlos, I just said – “

“But shouldn’t you be the decider of that? Does it really help you to stay in the dark about things you could know about?” He shook his head. “Cecil, I can’t keep secrets from you. I can’t _lie_ to you. That’s not how a relationship is supposed to work.”

It came out more harshly than he’d meant and he regretted it when he saw Cecil cringe. He grabbed Cecil by the wrist and tugged firmly. “What I meant was I was taught to be open and honest with people I loved. So if I don’t, I feel like I’m doing something wrong. And there is some chance that I am. The Sheriff’s Secret Police aren’t always right.”

Cecil flinched at the final sentence, but didn’t say anything of it. His eyes darted around the room and he cupped Carlos’s cheek. “Remember the lights above the Arby’s.”

“What about them?” Aside from how terribly romantic they now were to him?

“In Night Vale, we have to face the fact that there are limits to our understanding. There are endless things will never know about the universe or ourselves. That’s what makes the things we do know precious.”

It was his radio voice. It wasn’t all that different from his normal voice, but it made Carlos melt. It was like wrapping him in a warm blanket.

“I would rather be exactly who I am _now_ ,” Cecil continued, “than know who I _was_.” He kissed Carlos, and tasted of tomatoes and maybe a little bit of Tabasco sauce. A weight was lifted from Carlos – not the whole amount, but enough that he felt he could bear it now.

The next morning, the folded, partially burned, coffee-stained application appeared in Cecil’s mailbox, with a red APPROVED stamp at the bottom.

            ****************************************

Carlos stayed awake long after Cecil was asleep that night, and the next, and the one after that. The shadows seemed a little darker, the moon dimmer despite being full, and he was tempted to leave the bathroom light on if not for the sheer ridiculousness of it. It was not so much that he was anxious or worried as he was still haunted by what he’d seen in the break room of the Payless Shoe Store, and it only gave him questions and not answers. He thought about people he could talk to, but decided that might only earn _them_ a trip to the re-education center, if they even remembered in the first place. Everyone in town loved Cecil (except maybe for Steve Carlsberg, who didn’t really hate him in the right way for this situation), so it was abundantly clear that the job was a thorough one, and no one remembered whatever caused that crater in Radon Canyon. An important event, wiped off the calendar like so many Carlos had already seen go in his year in Night Vale. And there were even probably a few he’d forgotten, maybe. He had no way of knowing.

Maybe Cecil was right to so aggressively seize the present instead of the past. It was a coping mechanism. It was how to stay sane in Night Vale.

And it was kind of a relief to hear that Cecil had gone somewhere, if maybe not the traditional type of Europe, so that Carlos could stop just pretending to believe him when he mentioned it. Just where it was was not a question he would find answers to anytime soon.

He did ask Cecil stray questions from time to time about how Cecil got his job, and what it entailed. He had in the past. Cecil spoke like it was something everyone knew but should not be spoken of, not because it was so secret but because it was so _personal_. “Also I don’t want the interns getting an edge up on me. The last thing you want is someone thinking the stars are right when they aren’t.”

“I heard from ... someone that Algonquin could do things with his voice. Things other people couldn’t do.”

"Well, he did have a lot of vocal training, I suppose,” Cecil said, which of course was not the whole answer.

“Something otherworldly. I’m having a hard time finding a word. I didn’t get a good description.”

Only under a very skeptical eye did Cecil relent. “I’m not very good at it. And it’s a misdemeanor to do it when I’m not on the radio.”

“Do what?”

Cecil shrugged and sipped his coffee. “Use the Voice. This is not something I’m supposed to talk about. Someone passed it to Al and he passed it to me.”

“So you would say it’s an oral tradition?”

His boyfriend beamed. “My lovely Carlos. You have such a way with words.”

And Cecil really, really wanted to stay on the good side of the City Council and the Sheriff’s Secret Police, at least until he was back from Santa Cruz. As Carlos did too, he filed it under the ever growing mental “mysterious things about my boyfriend” file and let the issue rest.

He drove out of the city to call Tom again, this time with the good news, and also to ask him to book their plane tickets to San Francisco, because within Night Vale no travel site would let him book tickets going anywhere.

“So I talked it over with Shelly and Abby,” Tom said, referring to Cecil’s half-sisters. “And we decided, if it’s cool with Cecil, to say to our kids that he lives in like, some kind of religious community in Arizona that’s very strict and that’s why they’ve never met him before.”

“Sounds good.”

“Does he have any religious beliefs that we should respect? Like, weird ones?”

“He won’t talk about them,” Carlos reassured them. “If he mentions a bloodstone circle, just leave it alone.” Who was prayed to, or honored, or sacrificed to, or summoned was not a casual question in Night Vale. Carlos saw Cecil get up first thing to chant at his bloodstone circle before it got too hot, but he was never invited in on it, nor did he expect to be.

“What about you?”

“Lapsed Catholic.” Very lapsed, and for entirely different reasons since moving to Night Vale. “Also, there’s something you should probably know about.”

“Okay.” Tom sounded like he was bracing himself.

“Cecil ... doesn’t know about homophobia. It’s not a thing in Night Vale. I have to tell him to tone the relationship stuff down, but if someone says something derogatory to him in the street, he might just be confused.”

“Wow. Really? Just ... wow.”

“Also, he doesn’t believe in mountains.”

This one earned Carlos a very long pause. He was pretty sure Tom was at first stunned, then burying his face in something so Carlos couldn’t hear him laughing.

“I did show him a picture of a mountain and he said it was an optical illusion. So this will be a very enlightening trip for him. He calls me a mountain apologist.”

“All right, all right.” Tom was definitely trying to calm himself down from some serious laughter. “He’s not ... I don’t want to say crazy.”

“He’s very intelligent and inquisitive, but he got a Night Vale education, which means he has some blind spots. And knows a lot of obscure information,” Carlos said. “Personally, I think he’s the sanest person in this town.”

“Does the town believe in mountains?”

“It’s an ongoing religious debate.”

This time Tom didn’t bother to hide it. “I just want to say we are _really_ looking forward to meeting him. I mean, for all the appropriate reasons that would make us want to meet a long-lost relative. And none of the silly ones.”

Carlos rolled his eyes. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

            ****************************************

They had lots of time to prepare. A whole month, after all the more basic arrangements were made. Cecil didn’t go into how he talked Station Management into giving him time off (“I just _did_ ,” he said with an uncomfortable shiver) but he had to pre-record a lot of things. No one else was allowed to use the microphone. If they did, he said, it could go badly for them.

“You didn’t practice when you were an intern?”

Cecil looked at him as if he’d grown a third head. Or not, because come to think of it, Cecil probably wouldn’t react at all to a third head, so the expression didn’t work here. “Of course not.”

Carlos _could_ imagine Cecil just sitting down on his first day on the job, completely ready and completely confident, and flipping on that radio voice along with the ON AIR light as if it had always been his job. He actually kind of couldn’t imagine anyone else in the booth.

“I’m wrong,” Cecil said over a distracted dinner. “I forgot all about it, but I was on the radio once before. But as a guest. And the tape hasn’t been erased! How silly of me.” After cleaning up he spent a good chunk of time going through more closets than Carlos thought the apartment had (or could hold, given the size) before he retrieved a cassette player with only a ate on the label: 11/5/71. “It was given to me as a gift at some point.”

It was not hard to obtain a walkman, as they were still sold and used in Night Vale as a quaint small town thing, possibly the only harmless quaint small town thing Carlos had encountered. He listened to it while he waited for samples to sprout. Most of it was pure static, which wasn’t surprising considering it was probably _old_ news, so it was _illegal_ news. He was starting to get a headache when it finally cleared up and he heard a voice that was both soft and booming at the same time.

“ – this has been traffic,” he said, he being the legendary Algonquin, Carlos assumed. His voice was different than Cecil’s – lower, more all-encompassing – but it had that same “get inside your head and block everything else out” quality that demanded attention no mater how simple the matter might be. “And now that I see we’re running a bit early, I’d like to share the microphone with a guest. We’re very pleased to have the young Cecil Baldwin in our studio – “

“ _Daware!_ ” said a child who, by Carlos’s quick calculations, was about three. His voice sounded small but excited. Too confident to really know he was on the radio. “Imma cat soup.”

“ – who is, as you can tell, becoming an expert in Tongues, despite it not being part of the pre-Kindergarden curriculum anymore.” It sounded like something was moving around. “Cecil, do you want to say anything to our listeners?”

Cecil’s voice was much closer. He was probably sitting in another chair, or possibly Algonquin’s lap. “Rocket pants.”

“You want rocket pants?”

“Imma go in da sky. Shooooom!” He made a long shushing sound.

“Do you want to go to the sky to look for news? Are you going to be a journalist?”

“Eima youriliss.”

Carlos was about to die laughing, which explained why Cecil hadn’t played it for him the night before.

“Do you have anything else to say to our listeners?”

“Ah! Shib-nitherath!”

There was a shrill noise on the radio, and some quick shuffling until it died down. “It seems our interview will have to come to an early conclusion,” Algonquin said, sounding a little flushed and maybe worried. “But we certainly enjoyed having him, didn’t we? Out of the mouths of babes, my mother used to say. She would never attach anything to tha – “

And the radio went back to static.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's not any real meaning to what the toddler Cecil says except for the last line, so don't bother looking for hidden meanings in his nonsense talk.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Cecil scratched his head, and tried to remember the last time he felt he had to impress anybody.

There was the most recent and obvious example of Carlos on their first date, and while Cecil had spent six hours choosing between two tunics and worried enormously, he knew inside that Carlos was perfect, and Carlos understood something of how much Cecil loved him, and he would accept him as he was. There was still a presentation and nerves involving whether Carlos would love him back, but they had seen each other before. Many times. There were many chances for impressions.

Station Management? But they’d never really looked at him in the conventional sense. They hadn’t even opened their door. And he was barely presentable then, covered in blood, pieces of heart meat stuck between his teeth, and brandishing the obsidian dagger that really, at that point, he was just barely holding on to. They judged him on different standards, though he did have to work hard in that hallway not to throw up the organ he’d consumed. The ritual allowed so little time for so much muscle and he wasn’t prepared for it. He held it down by staying upright for the next day or so, just to be sure.

Beyond that, well, he didn’t know. He’d worked exceeding hard as an intern, but he didn’t have to impress Algonquin with his appearance, though he was required to clean up whatever fluids he let drip on the floors and on one occasional had to take the carpet in the break room to the cleaners. They were experts at getting blood stains out, but not Appalachian mud squid ink, and he was fined for the replacement.

Who else? He knew everyone in town and once he was the Voice of Night Vale, he had to _sound_ presentable, but that was about it. It didn’t leave him much to go on.

“You’ll be fine. They’ll love you. They have to; they’re family,” Carlos said. “But no furry pants.”

“But the blue – “

“No. Furry. Pants.”

“But I thought you liked them!”

“I like a lot of things about you, _mí amor_. But you’re just going to have to trust me on this one.”

It was also agreed upon that he would not be buying gifts for his nieces and nephews from Night Vale. This would just have to wait until Santa Cruz.

“You’re over-thinking it,” Carlos said with a smile when he came home that night. “Just put the clothing without mysterious stains in your bag and don’t worry about it.”

That left him with very little options, and they ended sharing the check-in bag while he just had a backpack. He removed his bloodstones from the outdoor altar (with the proper incantations first, of course) and individually wrapped them in silk before placing them in a wooden box to stifle the humming. The altar looked empty and, he belated realized, a little dusty, so Carlos found him wiping it down in the very early hours of the morning.

“It’s time to go,” Carlos said with just a hint of impatience. “The plane’s not going to wait for us.”

Cecil didn’t say anything. He thought he was being cool about it, projecting a calm exterior, but he never managed to fool Carlos, who cupped both his cheeks and kissed him. “They’re going to love you.”

“Because they have too?”

“No, they’ll do it on their own steam,” he assured him. “Let’s get out of here before you spontaneously combust.”

“I’m not nervous!” he shouted and followed Carlos to the car.

            ****************************************

Carlos had been a little worried at first that Cecil might not be able to leave – that the car would get a flat, or a bunch of flats, or melt, or hit an invisible barrier. So he sucked in his breath as they crossed the town line beyond the highway entrance, and nothing happened. Time didn’t stop, or slow down, or speed up. The sky remained taupe, at least for a while. He had to overestimate for the airport, as the roads near Night Vale tended to vary in size and length, and he never got somewhere in the same amount of time twice.

“It’s so _blue_ ,” Ceci said, after a surprising amount of time taking it in. “It’s almost cerulean but it’s not quite.”

“The sky is blue because it reflects off the ocean,” Carlos said, wondering if that would matter at all.

He put on the radio, which Cecil was surprised to find was “all weather” and much of it very inaccurate. “It’s not raining,” he said to no one in particular after Daft Punk came on.

The first real challenge was the airport. It wasn’t very large, but from the way Cecil stood gaping at it from the long-term parking lot, clutching his backpack straps protectively, he had never building that size before.

“What are the rules?”

“No mentioning the words blood or sacrifice, and definitely not in the same sentence,” Cecil recited. “Our bags weren’t out of our sight since we packed them even though technically they were because we packed them last night and we were asleep – “

“They don’t have to know that.”

“And I am not carrying anything liquid or hazardous in my carry-on bag. But I’m carrying liquid inside me!”

“Don’t mention that. It doesn’t count.”

“I could leak a couple pints of liquid if I needed to – “

“Doesn’t count.”

Cecil did manage to say the correct words after all, possibly because the TSA guard had her eyes on her cell phone screen the whole time. It was not a large waiting room, but Cecil looked visibly nervous around so many unfamiliar people even if he was unwilling to say anything about it, and he had no idea what to do with the magazine offerings. The book store was small but it had classics.

“How about _1984_?” Carlos held up Orwell’s famous book.

"I read that in seventh grade,” Cecil said. “But we didn’t spend a lot of time on it because it’s a comedy. We were supposed to be reading serious material. Have you read it? The ending’s _hilarious_.”

Instead, he opted for _Crime and Punishment_ after Carlos promised him some soul-sucking ennui and a lot of pondering the meaning of existence. It would also definitely occupy Cecil for the flight and then some. And then some more.

Whatever Europe Cecil had visited, his trip didn’t involve air travel. He seem to do fine until the plane to take off and reality set in. He did as the instructions Carlos read for him told him, and put his head between his legs, breathing into the paper sanitary bag.

“First time a plane,” Carlos said to the curious flight attendant as he rubbed circles into Cecil’s back.

“Congratulations, sir!” She did sound way too chipper for this hour of the morning, but at least she was trying. “You call me if you need anything.”

“Thank you.”

Cecil didn’t stay that way the whole flight, but mostly because it was a short flight. He managed to sip some ice water but avoided the caring flight attendant, as if he didn’t know what to do with her. When probed, he said he had a headache but refused medicine. He spent a very long time with his eyes shut. He spent a long time in the bathroom. When he returned, Carlos put his hand over Cecil’s cold one.

“There’s _so many people_ ,” Cecil said in the tone of a very intimate admission.

Carlos managed to lean in for a quick kiss on the cheek – nothing too obvious. “The other airport will be faster. And then there will be people you want to see.”

Cecil had no response, but his posture slackened from its tight crunch. Of the many things Carlos had mentally prepared for, finding Cecil had a fear of crowds (or just claustrophobia on an overstuffed airplane) was not one of them. He was so outgoing and eager to please with everyone in Night Vale – because he knew everyone in Night Vale. He had announced Carlos’s arrival last year with suspicion and possible fear, something Carlos just took to be spooky at the time. Cecil also didn’t take medicine on a regular basis, once mentioning that it seemed to work differently on him than was described on the bottle, so there was no reason to offer him something for anxiety, and Carlos only had his own Ritalin.

Cecil came off the plane pale, his hair white. He washed his face in the bathroom at luggage claim and visibly tried to regroup. “What if they – “

“They’re going to love you,” Carlos said.

Cecil seemed small walking next to him. Carlos knew Cecil was taller, but the man was also a walking, talking optical illusion and he _felt_ small, keeping his eyes on the carpeted floor and letting other people pass around him. Carlos nearly had to drag him to the arrivals meeting area.

“...Cecil?” There was some hesitation in the voice of the fair-haired woman holding the CECIL & CARLOS sign, because of course she only had that one photo and this Cecil looked different. Cecil always looked different.

Cecil found focus, looking very intently at the woman with strawberry hair and an overeager expression. “Shelly.” He knew that one of his sisters was red-headed, and the other was blond. They simultaneously moved in for a hug, as if they were thinking in tandem, though Shelly barely made it past his shoulders.

“You must be Carlos,” a man said next to him. He was a burly guy to put it mildly, in a warn tee and jeans. Even his hand was big. Maybe in slightly different clothing, and with more hair, he would look like Larry the Cable Guy. “I’m Matt. Shelly’s husband.” And he had the accent to match it.

“Nice to meet you.” He remembered the basics – Matt and Shelly had kids. Abigail, the younger sister, was divorced, no kids, seeing someone. Tom was the oldest, also divorced, partial custody of a boy and a girl. Compared to Carlos’s own household, scattered between two hemispheres and languages, it was very simple. “Thanks for inviting us.”

“He does look like Tom. Kind of.” He turned to offer hand to Cecil, who was just coming lose of Shelly’s embrace.

“Cecil, this is my husband Matt,” she said, wiping a little tear from her eye. “Our kids are at the house. They’re not big fans of long drives.”

Cecil seemed built up and taller in his emotional state and he eyed Matt suspiciously for a clear second before his face lit up and he happily shook his hand. “It’s so nice to meet you.” Cecil genuinely and instantaneously liked this guy.

“So you’ve never been to California before?”

“I’ve never left Night Vale,” Cecil said. “Except to go to Europe when I was young. But I’ve never been on a plane.”

“Then how did you – “

“It’s complicated,” Carlos said, and was introduced to Shelly. She did sort of look like her mother, but it was hard to tell with the age gap. She was late thirties, early forties at most. Whatever the shared genes, she lacked the essential Cecil-ness that made Cecil Cecil, but he would put money on the idea that _no one_ had the same presence as his boyfriend. “And thank you for the ride.”

“Tom wanted to come, but someone had to stay with the kids and Mom. Everyone’s here this year because he got his kids for the holiday. And Abby’s on her way, but her flight’s super-delayed because of the air traffic. And she’s bringing Michael. He’s a real intellectual-type from New England.”

“Are you saying I’m not an intellectual-type?” Matt joked as he carried their check-in bag to the parking lot. There was a long wait for the shuttle to take them all the way out. Cecil kept his eyes on either his newfound family or his shoes, avoiding looking at the other people in line. Carlos gave him a concerned look but he seemed to miss it entirely.

“Of course not. But Carlos, aren’t you a professor from Rhode Island?”

“Massachusetts. So yes, I know the type. Half the state is a college town. I’m in Night Vale on a research grant.”

The car was a minivan the sign of suburban kids. Matt drove and Carlos sat shotgun, as Shelly wanted to catch up with Cecil, if having the first conversation of their lives could really be called catching up. Carlos didn’t know what she did or where she lived full time. He just knew that Cecil visibly relaxed when the car doors shut and avoided looking out the window. He eagerly accepted some water from the back of the car even though it was warm.

“Long flight?” his sister said.

“It was okay,” Cecil said. He was trying to be a good guest, but Carlos could tell he was sick from something, and Shelly probably could to.

“It was long and crowded, Carlos put in for good measure. “But we don’t have to do it again for another four days. And it was a very early wake-up this morning.”

Since the storyline was that Cecil was from a town of religious isolationists and might not want to talk about it immediately with Outsiders as a force of habit, Shelly filled him in on her life, and their mother, and her father. Matt and her had three children and they lived in Des Moines, where her grandparents were from and where she grew up. Matt worked in information services and she was just getting into back into the workplace as a physical therapist now that her kids were in school. It was wonderfully mundane in its own way, and Cecil was interested the way he was interested in people, especially ones who had a very special meaning to him. Carlos nodded off, which was probably not perceived as rude so much as a function of being a weary traveler stuck riding through highway traffic.

When he was gently nudged awake, he found Cecil by his side with the open car door and the smell of salt water filling his nostrils. The breeze was a shock to his system, as he hadn’t felt one since his last trip to the East Coast, and though it was not the desert son it was still entirely too bright when he stepped out of the car.

It was more of a compound than a beach house, separated from other houses by distance and trees on either side, and there were two main buildings and a pool house, and beyond that the sea, currently partially obscured by the high wooden fence for privacy and perhaps to lessen the noise from the waves. He squinted but Cecil had lost interest in him, and was staring at the man who was less his double and more a man of a different shade of Cecil, a more solid and comprehensible figure than a man who seemed to always be changing size and color. Cecil could be measured in comparison, as he was definitely slimmer and did not have the small beer belly that often came with middle age, and the absence of traits was easier to manage with Cecil than counting those present. They practically gaped at each other for a full minute and then wordlessly embraced. Cecil had never actually spoken to Tom or texted him, but they were close in age, and Carlos knew the most about him. Whatever had been said about Cecil’s true origins (and father) to Shelly and Abigail was left up to Tom, which couldn’t have provided him with only easy decisions. There was still the idea that Tom, having been in the room when Marie Kowalski (nee Baldwin) told the story in graphic detail, knew about Cecil’s birth more intimately than Cecil ever would.

“Mom’s in the den,” was all he could manage, still holding onto the fabric of Cecil’s coat. “She really wants to see you, but the path is slippery, and she had that fall – “

“I know.” Cecil’s voice had returned to its normal calming inflection. Even if he didn’t really know, it didn’t matter. They all followed Tom to the main building, and without taking off his coat or removing his backpack, Cecil approached the old woman sitting in the armchair, who set aside her knitting and stood up with some difficulty and a hand from her long-lost son.

“Cecil.”

His hair seemed to shimmer and he just said, “Mom.”

There were sounds from outside of kids playing in the pool, but there would be more introductions later. Carlos knew there would be time, and he rejoined the others in silent agreement and left Cecil alone with his mother.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

“I don’t even know what to say to you,” Marie Baldwin said, her voice muffled by Cecil’s clothing as if she was burrowing to get as close to him as she could get. “I should have never let you go.”

Her hair had grayed, and she didn’t use dye. She didn’t smell of anything weird or unexpected or magical. She had the scent of an ordinary person in a well-used body. “No. You did the right thing. I’m okay.” He kissed her forehead. “I’m okay. Everything is okay.”

“I should have tried harder to reach you all these years – “

“It’s okay.” He didn’t want to use Radio Voice Cecil on her like it was some kind of weapon, but that was how his voice worked when he had intention behind his words. And he really wanted to her to know that everything was okay. That every decision she had made until this point was the right one. But those words seem way too complicated right now.

She smoothed out his jacket, which was still on. “You’re so tall.”

“I’m not always tall.”

“What am I doing? Take off your jacket! Sit down! Tell me everything about your life.”

Cecil sheepishly realized he was still wearing his backpack, partially because he didn’t want anyone carrying around _his_ bloodstones when they didn’t know what they were doing. He sat on the adjacent couch and put his hand over her wrinkled fingers and told her everything.

It was mostly about the radio show. And Carlos. He tried to tell a version of the story of how they met that wasn’t so stalker-ish, something he’d realized rather belatedly, but there was just no other way to do it. Carlos was perfect but, well, obstinate. The world did not come crashing down when he said that. And he did owe Carlos a lot, for this whole conversation, which wouldn’t have happened without him.

“I did think about you,” Cecil said. “But I felt ... I didn’t think I needed to think about you. You were just somewhere else, and you were my mother, and you loved me. And I guess that was all I really thought I needed. A lot of kids in Night Vale don’t have parents. That’s why they’re so well-armed. Lack of adult supervision.”

“I thought about you,” his mother said, “but I never told my parents. And when I got married, I never told my husband. It was just ... it was a foolish mistake. My parents might have supported me.”

“I don’t think I could have grown up anywhere other than Night Vale.”

Her eyes glazed over with a lost look for a second, but he saw it. “That’s right. That man practically spelled it out for me – what was he name? He had pink hair.”

“Algonquin. The former Voice of Night Vale.”

“I made him promise to take care of you.”

His eyes must have widened; she looked like she approved of his expression. “He never told me that. But it does make sense.”

“Can I ask ... ?”

“You can ask anything.”

“Why was he like that? You know – “ And she just kind of waved, because there wasn’t a good way to say ‘like a stuffed animal.’

“Oh. So some advice he gave me very early on was to always be very careful to read the contracts you sign, especially if it’s with your lifetime employers.” He smiled, and more so because he made his mother laugh. “Station Manage is difficult to deal with. But I’m used to it.”

“He retired?”

“No. He uhm, died.” He did not elaborate on that. “I was there, at the end. It was the way he wanted it to be. But he never told me about you, other than your name and that you were an Outsider. I guess it was because I never asked. In Night Vale you just have to accept things the way they are, or you don’t last. Carlos had a very hard time with it his first year.”

“But the town accepted him?”

He shrugged. “These things are hard to predict. But I never had any doubt.” Actually, he had never even considered the possibility of Carlos leaving not of his own devices. It would have been deadening. “And now I have Carlos. And thanks to him, I have you, and I have all of these wonderful people in my life.”

He leaned over so she could kiss him on the cheek. “You should go meet them. There’ll be time to talk.”

There was time. That was so nice to hear.

            ****************************************

When asked if he wanted something, Carlos automatically answered, “Do you have toast?”

“That’s all you want? Toast?”

“Yes. Lots of it. If you don’t mind.” He’d been introduced, briefly to Shelly and Matt’s three daughters, and Tom’s son and daughter, the latter of whom was the only real teenager and barely looked up from her phone. “I will shove down my throat as much toast as you can physically make.”

“We are going to get dinner at some point,” Tom said, checking his own phone. “Abby’s plane is in the air at least, but she said we shouldn’t wait for her for dinner. We usually go out tonight because tomorrow is the big cooking day. Italian. Somewhere the kids can get pizza.” He patted his son Brian on the top of his head.

“Italian would be great. Anything with wheat or wheat byproducts. It’s all banned in Night Vale and I can’t stand it.”

Shelly, who was a little more on top of arrangements, handed him an iced tea. “Is it a religious thing or does like one guy has a gluten-allergy and he just makes everybody do it?”

“Ah.” He looked for a way to say this. He had several possibilities in mind, but he wanted something in line with what Cecil would possibly say later. “So there was this incident where the grain that came into town had snakes in it. Poisonous ones.” It felt better than he thought it would to get something cold and liquid in him. “And it became a medical emergency. So everything’s banned. Which is, um, awful.”

There was still some sun left in the day, and this was California, so Carlos ended up in a lounge chair with a plate full of bread crumbs and borrowed sunglasses and he was almost sleeping again when one of the girls came up to him and he realized she was talking to him. She was Shelly’s kid. What was her name? Mary? Marilyn? Marcia?

“My mom said you’re Uncle Cecil’s friend. Are you guys dating?”

“Yes.”

“Are you boyfriend and girlfriend?”

“We’re boyfriend and boyfriend.” He did not go further into it. She looked to be about eight or nine, but he was bad at guessing these things. He was a doctor of philosophy, not medicine. “There’s no girl.”

“Are you going to get _married?_ ”

“Um, I don’t know.” He did know about the Supreme Court decision. Night Vale got _some_ outside news. “That’s something people don’t think about right away.”

“Are you going to have a _wedding?_ ”

“If we did get married we would have a wedding, yes. I don’t really know what kind – “

“Are you going to have a big fluffy wedding cake?”

Argh. _Kids_. “Are you going to ask me questions I can’t answer until you pass out from starvation?”

“Katie!” her mother called. Turned out Carlos was way off. “What did we say about bothering people when they’re resting?”

“I’m awake,” Carlos said. “I’m getting up. Cecil!” His boyfriend was finally emerging from what had probably been a very emotional conversation. He looked content but extremely tired. He even shrunk back a little at the prospect of being introduced to his nieces and nephews, but not to the point that anyone else seemed to notice. Even though they must have had some information, they asked about his hair (it was blond at the moment) and where he lived and was it hot there, of course it was, it was the desert. And then it was Tom’s turn for a trip to the airport, with faint hopes of returning home in time for dinner with his sister and her boyfriend.

“Maybe you should lie down,” Carlos whispered to him. “You look paler than usual.”

Cecil nodded numbly and was unusually quiet as they were down to their rooms, or rather room. “It’s going to be really crowded this year,” Shelly explained. “So I hope two twins is okay. And you have your own bathroom so you don’t have to share with the kids.”

“I didn’t bring enough salt,” Cecil said absentmindedly.

“What?”

“Is there like, a can of Mortons?” Carlos explained. “It’s a Night Vale thing.”

“Yeah, I think so. I mean, it’s a time share, so there’s a lot of odds and ends around for cooking.” She showed him back to the kitchen and there was a brief search of the cabinets. “Is kosher salt okay?”

Carlos didn’t know, actually. He just knew that he was a lot safer here, salt or no salt, than in Night Vale. “It should be fine.”

“Is he okay? Or is he always like this?”

He gave her credit for being so observant. “He’s probably a little overwhelmed. He’s not used to being around people he doesn’t know. He _literally_ knows everyone in Night Vale. And that’s on top of traveling and you know, meeting his mom. He’ll be fine.”

“In that case we’re really glad you came with him,” she said. “You’re not missing out on your own family’s celebrations, are you?”

He shook his head. “It was never a big thing growing up. It was just me and my aunt and we would go to someone’s house because eating turkey was the thing to do and I had off from school. But the rest of my family was still in Guatemala and it’s a really American holiday. But thanks for asking.”

When he returned to the bedroom, a cozy bedroom with two twin beds on either side and a shag carpet, he found the luggage hauled onto the bed but Cecil in the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the tub with his hands buried in his face.

"I got the salt.” Carlos set it on the counter and sat down on the porcelain edge next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. Cecil’s whole back was tense. “What’s wrong?”

“Everything’s fine. I’m just tired.”

“I know when you’re lying to me. You’re very bad at it. I find it one of your more endearing qualities, actually.”

Cecil sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “I just wasn’t expecting so many people.”

“What, your family? Because they already love you. I said they have to, but they are also thrilled to have you here.”

“No, they’re all fine. They’re all wonderful people. I had just forgotten ... it’s not that often that I see Outsiders.”

“Except here, they’re not really Outsiders, are they?”

Cecil shook his head. “It’s not that. It’s something that happened to me when I had my third eye opened. I don’t like to talk about it because it makes people uncomfortable.”

Carlos gave Cecil a reassuring tug and waited for the explanation.

“It was different from the other drillings. The first was in grade school. I was having headaches and nightmares so the school nurse suggested it. It was an outpatient procedure with anesthesia. I don’t remember any of it. The second time, I did it myself. Or what I mean is I had friends do it, with a power drill.” Carlos cringed, but Cecil didn’t seem to notice. “I thought it would help me do better on my SATs. And I did get an 800 in Verbal, so that’s something. But it got infected, and I was in the hospital for two weeks being treated with an anti-bacterial brain squid attached to my head. So it was a while before the third one. I was gunning to be the next Voice of Night Vale. I would have done anything for the position. I had already survived a night in the Dark Box for I don’t even know what and that was better than everybody else. And I knew Algonquin had done it. This drilling was special. A spiritual thing. There was only one doctor who would do it, and I had to get Al to talk him into it after I talked Al into it. He remembered the whole infection ordeal.”

The harsh glare of the bathroom light played unsettlingly on Cecil’s eyes, and the trepanning scar in the middle of his forehead seemed especially visible. “I was warned about it, but I didn’t understand because there’s no way you _can_ understand, but when it’s first opened, and the pressure leaves your brain and all the blood rushes up, you see things. Stars. Hallucinations. And at first, you can see people as they really are.”

Carlos picked his head up. “What do you mean?”

“You see them as they are, not the way their body presents themselves. It’s like they have another layer on them and that’s the real one and you just didn’t see it. And I walked around and saw people I’d known all my life and found out all kinds of new things about them, whether I wanted to or not. Some were good, some were bad. Steve Carlsberg was a jerk.”

Carlos stifled a laugh.

“It’s just his nature,” Cecil said, still completely serious. “He’s not evil. He’s just ... so aggravating to me. It’s who he is. This all sounds fairly judgmental, and it really was. I couldn’t prevent it from shaping how I interacted with people. I was told it would die down and I went to Radon Canyon and lived there for a while. Maybe a week, a month, I don’t know. I was terrified of looking at anyone and seeing something I didn’t want to know. But it did abate. It wasn’t so intense after that, and it didn’t really happen to people I already knew, which was everyone, unless I focused. It was only when I saw a new person that it would sort of kick in without me putting any effort into it.”

“Like me? Because you were very suspicious of me.”

“Before I _saw_ you.” Now Cecil smiled. “I have to be in the room. And I saw you and I fell in love.”

“Cecil, I know I’m not perfect.”

Cecil grinned and kissed him on the cheek, right next to his ear, and nuzzled him. “This was as a separate thing. It contributed to it. When I saw you I saw someone who was so honest and eager to do good and big-hearted, and it was so refreshing. We try not to let it get to us but we’re cynical in Night Vale, and you weren’t. And I knew you were some I could really like, but also that I could trust with my life. For no reason, you would save me from a storm or a car accident or a burning building because that’s just _who you are_. That’s what I saw.”

Now Carlos couldn’t meet his eyes. “That’s a pretty big compliment.”

“I’m just stating facts,” Cecil said, but there was a twinkle in his eye. “So, today ... all those people, and I couldn’t turn it off. I didn’t know any of them and I still knew more about them than they might know themselves. There were bad people at the airport. There was a bad person on our plane. He wasn’t going to do anything – he was just bad in general. And once something like that gets under my skin, it just gets lost inside me and I feel this _weight_ and I couldn’t get rid of it.”

“And your family ...?”

“They’re fine. They’re good. I don’t want to talk about in detail – it’s _very_ personal. But they’re all genuine.” He finally looked at Carlos. “I’ll be okay.”

“You need to rest.”

“I should put salt down.”

“Cecil, we’re safer here then we ever are in Night Vale.”

Cecil looked a bit offended, but he couldn’t have been that offended if he didn’t jump to defend his hometown. “Just the door then.”

He spread salt along the bottom edge of the door, which Carlos assured him he would be responsible for vacuuming up from the carpet before they left because this was someone else’s house, and finally laid down. He was asleep instantly.

            ****************************************

Dinner was at a very empty Italian place, which Cecil was happy with, though he did stare at his spaghetti with some suspicion and poked it multiple times with his utensils before eating it. They had really good garlic bread. Or maybe they had crappy garlic bread, and Carlos didn’t care. He was in love with their garlic bread.

Tom joined the party late, bringing Abigail, the younger sister, and her boyfriend Michael in tow. She was blond and in her thirties, and Michael couldn’t have been more than that, and was balding ungracefully.

She was very excited. “It’s so nice to finally meet you!” She was the shortest, and Cecil seemed taller right now, which meant he probably was. “Michael, this is my brother Cecil. I told you about him.”

“Charmed.” They shook.

“And this, um – “

“Carlos.” Carlos rose and shook hands with Abigail and Michael. “I heard you were a professor somewhere?”

“BU,” he said. “Creative writing and Freshman comp. And you?”

“Uh, environmental science at Miskatonic. Though I’m not actively teaching. I have a grant to work in Night Vale.”

“I went there once,” Michael said, his tone hard to identify. “It was kind of a weird place.”

“Yeah, I used to think that too,” Carlos replied.

“I googled Night Vale but I didn’t get anything except a Yelp review of a Pinkberry that said they had all kinds of weird flavors,” Abigail said. “And there was no map to it. Maybe it was the wrong place?”

“Oh. I don’t know why it says that. It’s a very good shop,” Cecil said, returning to his seat next to his mother. “Maybe the Sheriff’s Secret Police hasn’t found it yet? Lazy, lazy.”

To that Carlos said to no one in particular, “They’re not very secret.”

“And they’re not doing a favor for tourism, leaving only one review up and it’s a _bad_ one,” Cecil said with some indignation.

“Are you going to complain to them?”

Cecil just shrunk in his seat.

“How do you contact the police, if they’re secret?” asked Denise, Tom’s teenage daughter.

“You just yell towards an open window,” Cecil said casually. “Or whisper into the phone. They’re all bugged.”

“That’s illegal. They can’t actually do that, right?” Shelly asked, because it was a reasonable thing to ask.

“I don’t know. I read some weird things about the NSA when I was catching up on the news on the plane,” Carlos said. “Apparently they’ll listen in on my calls if I make a bunch to Kuwait for no particular reason?”

            ****************************************

Carlos thought the day went well, all things considered. Cecil was more relaxed after dinner, when he knew everyone around him, and so far he hadn’t said anything that was beyond explanation or freaked out at the sight of Carlos buying a whole pack of Bic pens at the grocery store. Beyond that, neither of them could stay awake very long.

Cecil put salt in each corner of the room and across both windowpanes. He couldn’t draw pentagrams under the beds because of the carpet, but eventually they found some construction paper (they did not say what they needed it for) and Cecil felt that as long as he mixed blood into his chalk, it would probably be just as good.

Carlos was appreciating a deep sleep aided by the distant sound of waves crashing on the sand when a ‘thump’ noise woke him up. He ignored it, curling up further in his sheets, until it repeated itself several times and he finally turned over and opened his eyes.

His boyfriend was standing at the door in his pajamas. He would try to push against the door, but then that ‘thump’ sound like something knocking against him would hit him, and he would step back, dazed. Then rinse, repeat.

“Cecil?” Carlos sat up. Cecil turned and looked not at him, but at the wall behind him. He was expressionless. “Cecil?”

Cecil turned around, this time to the windows, but his hand stopped in front of them. He put the hand down, then up again, then down again.

“Cecil? Are you sleepwalking?” Carlos pulled himself out of bed and waved a hand in front of Cecil’s eyes. No response. “Am I supposed to wake you?” People said not to wake sleepwalkers, but he wasn’t quite sure why they said that. He gave him a tug on the shoulder, but Cecil did not respond even though his eyes were open.

Cecil made a turn to go back for the door, but Carlos stopped him. He didn’t need to exert much effort to do it; Cecil seemed rather malleable. “Come on. Let’s go back to bed.” He’d never seen Cecil sleepwalk before, but if this was a semi-regular thing, it might be the least weird thing about him. Carlos had to actually push Cecil down in his own bed.

He just wouldn’t stay there.

After several tries, one of which lasted a full minute before Cecil returned to a standing position but still wouldn’t respond or make eye contact, Carlos sighed and climbed into bed with him. Or on him, more accurately, because it was a twin bed. Cecil was the one who was good at somehow making those dimensions work for the two of them on the rare occasion where they spent the night in Carlos’s lab, usually hiding in terror from something, but now Cecil was more of a useless lump with appendages and Carlos curled around him as best he could in a way that meant he could probably still get some sleep, even if he would be sore in the morning.

“Cecil, I love you,” he said, not worried about waking him anymore, “but you are a weirdo.”


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Of course, Cecil recalled nothing of it.

“Sleepwalking. Really?” Cecil didn’t sound _overly_ surprised. He just shrugged. “I don’t know if I’ve ever done that before. No one’s told me I have.”

He was watching the Thanksgiving Day parade with his mother while the other siblings and kids shuttled around, either losing interest or going back to work on the turkey. Marie Kowalski insisted that she was cooking, but it was more like she was directing from afar because no one would let her get up. The parade was on the DVR because of time zones.

Cecil seemed much more his old self, if still a little sleep. “So why is only one of the two people on the Thanksgiving float Native American?”

“Because it’s hard to find Native Americans in New York,” Carlos said, having had this explained to him when he was a kid. “Usually the other one is Puerto Rican or something. NBC thinks no one can tell the difference.”

“Hush, it’s the parade,” Cecil’s mother said. “Even if it’s true. Have you ever been to the parade? You grew up in New York, right?”

“Yes, and I have. And it was cold and wet,” he said. “By the time Santa came out I thought I was literally dying of being cold. The television version is much better.”

“And the broadcasters are doing a good job of pretending not to be bored this year,” Shelly added. “Cecil, did you ever want to move into television?”

“Night Vale had a public television station for about a week,” Cecil said, and ended it there. Presumably because it got deadly or horrific after that. “But no. We can’t all have perfect hair like Carlos all the time.”

Carlos just rolled his eyes uncomfortably and went to look for the coffee machine. He found it jammed in the back, away from various dirty bowls and cut up vegetables. “Can I help with something?”

Abigail was standing over the sink. “Sure, you can find the paprika. I need a lot of it.” He was sorting through the spice rack when she continued, “So, um, is Cecil ... what religion is Cecil?”

“I don’t think it has a proper name,” Carlos replied. “People don’t ask other people what they worship in Night Vale. It’s considered too personal a question. But they do have a kind of cultural idea of Christmas there, because it’s so hard to avoid. Also they believe Santa is a drugged-up government bear. Or series of drugged-up government bears. I’m not clear on that.” He shrugged and handed her a fresh bottle of spice. “You could ask him. He wouldn’t be offended. And I would be curious as to what he tells you.”

“I don’t want to be intrusive,” she said quickly. It was obvious that they all really, really wanted him to feel welcome. Like this was his home, and he was with the family that treated him like family. But since none of them seemed stupid or blind, by now they had probably realized something was lurking around the edges with Cecil, who always looked a _tiny_ bit different every time you saw him. And he wanted to be accepted, which meant looking and acting more human than he probably was, so it was an awkward two way street. But family was always a little awkward, even when everyone was descended from the same people.

“Well, you can ask him if you want,” Carlos reinforced, and then let the subject be.

            ****************************************

The day went smoothly. Carlos enjoyed beer (because ... beer!) but seeing the parade did make him a little homesick, and he spent a lot of time on the phone, talking to his aunt, his sister (who was in high school) and his brother. Yes, Felipe was definitely on cocaine, because all the chefs in the kitchen where he worked were on cocaine, and that was just how you got through the high-paying restaurant day. He spoke the worst English of all of them because he didn’t seem to need any for his workplace, just a smattering of menu words and French. He even made fun of Carlos’s accent, saying he’d lost touch with his roots. That was what Carlos’s mother had said to him before he left for school – “Don’t forget us. Don’t forget your culture.”

But then his father, who wanted him to be educated and successful, said, “Lose your accent as fast as you can.” So it was a mixed message, and Carlos pronounced Spanish names the flat, American way, without any accents. And maybe it had helped him get tenure, because old school academia tended to be just a little bit racist.

Michael, it turned out, was only an adjunct professor, and sort of a dickhole to be around. He was fine in groups, but he’d gotten in that habit of talking like a forever grad student with its unnecessarily tone, and he thought environmental science had something to do with studying baby turtles and seaweed until Carlos patiently mentioned that his PhD was actually in biochemistry, a ‘real’ science. But maybe he wasn’t giving Michael enough of a chance because he knew Cecil didn’t like him. He was trying to hide it, but his body language when they were introduced gave it away to Carlos. When asked privately, Cecil waved it off and said if he made Abigail happy, so be it, nothing was really wrong.

There was lots of eating turkey, and pretty much devouring the carcass, which turned out to be convenient as Cecil could steal some bone, which he latter mashed up as powder for a sleepwalking sigil that he put on the inside of their door.

Which didn’t help in the end. Carlos didn’t know how long it had been doing on, but maybe quite some time, because all the books were pulled out of the book case and the luggage flipped over, which seemed like a lot of work for a sleepwalker who couldn’t seem to open the door. “Cecil,” he said with a ‘tsk.’ “We’re doing this right this time.” It required a considerable effort to put the beds together, and there was still the bar under mattresses between them, but it was far better for his back and his legs to have room to move while still holding down Cecil with his weight and one arm over his chest. Cecil’s breath grew a little panicked initially, but he still didn’t wake up, and eventually he settled into the more soft tones of sleep.

            ****************************************

In the morning, Cecil took quick stock of the situation from his new position halfway across their two beds and said, “It really requires mammal bone. Bird bones are hollow. Maybe we can have steak tonight?” He was a little flustered at the state he’d left the room in. “At least I didn’t get out.”

Carlos looked at the salt line, which was fresh from last night and undisturbed. _Maybe he couldn’t get out_. “Um, you sure tried.”

Despite many discussions of it, no one had actually gotten up for Black Friday morning sales, after it was explained that Friday was the day that businesses _went into_ the black, not that the day was actually a color instead of a day, which took Cecil a minute to get. He sounded a little disappointed.

Various people wanted to go to the mall and Cecil managed to express that he did _not_ want to do that, and Tom asked if an open-air mall or a strip mall might be okay. Cecil was clearly feeling more courageous, because he said it was a great idea. And he felt a little compelled to at least buy Christmas gifts for his many nieces and nephews, whose birthdays he had accidentally neglected all these years.

The parent-to-kid ration wasn’t too bad, which was important when everyone wanted to in different directions. But once they realized Cecil was buying things every kid wanted Cecil, and dragged him along by the wrist or the hand or the forefinger. Whatever it took.

“Your uncle is not a toy,” Shelly reminded her children. “And he only has two arms.”

 _Fortunately_ , Carlos thought to himself as he sipped his Starbucks coffee that tasted really good. “Why don’t we – Cecil?”

Cecil, who had escaped torment for a minute, was staring at a sign. Specifically, it was the sign with the mall map and the name ‘Santa Cruz Outdoor Emporium’ above it, and he was giving it an odd amount of his interest. The map wasn’t that complicated.

“Cecil?”  Carlos waved a hand in front of him, and got no response. And you didn’t sleepwalk when you were awake, right? Cecil!” He gave him a little shove, enough to knock Cecil out of his apparent reverie.

“Ugmgh.” Cecil pinched the bridge of his nose. “What?” He sounded very much like he had, however temporarily, been sleeping. “Sorry. I just got stuck for a moment.”

Carlos didn’t know what ‘stuck for a moment’ meant and he didn’t think Cecil did either, but an open-air mall was not a place to discuss it. The early morning crowds were gone, and the kids were too focused on where they wanted to go to give the adults much time to think or get frustrated by crowds. Somehow they ended up in an overpriced art supply store because on kid wanted a watercolor set and Cecil just gaped at the pen collection. “This is _soooo_ dangerous.”

“Pens aren’t dangerous. They’re just banned.”

Cecil gave him a steely look and said, “You don’t know _why_ they were banned.” His possible explanation was interrupted by Katie approaching him with three different starter kids, each more toxic and not-child safe than the last. “I think we have to buy you something that says it’s safe for kids since your dad won’t let you carry decent firearm. Actually, can we try to find - ”

“ _No_ ,” Carlos said, answering at record speed.

“Even something small, like a Walther PPK?”

“No, and it’s a big deal here and you _shouldn’t be talking about it_ ,” Carlos said, grabbing a package off the shelf that was clearly meant for the under-12 set.

“Says the guy with the mechanical pencil in his hand. You could put your eye out with that!”

            ****************************************

When they were all back at the house, safe and sound and with someone watching over the kids in the pool, Carlos went to sleep. More accurately, he passed out on the couch, still clutching a three-pack of mechanical pencils with a fancy gel band, and Cecil almost had to carry him to their room.

He knew Carlos was worried about him. Not that he would fit in or be unhappy with the trip. Carlos knew when something was off, and Cecil didn’t tell him about the headache that was not caused by his third eye, or the vomiting black sludge, which for him just meant indigestion. His boyfriend shouldn’t have to be his babysitter. He needed some time off.

“Uncle Cecil!”

Still smiling whenever he was called that, Cecil found Denise, his brother Tom’s daughter, at a desk in another bedroom with twin beds, a MacBook out. “Hey, can I interview you?”

“I’m usually the one who does interviews, but okay.” He sat down in the offered seat, which was really just a stool.

“This is Skype,” she said, pointing to the floppy-haired boy in a hoodie waving through the box in the screen. “It lets the computer – “

“I know what Skype is.”

“You do?”

“Yes. We have the internet in Night Vale.”

“I thought you didn’t.” She looked a little embarrassed. “Do you want to say hi to Brendon? He’s my friend.”

“Your boyfriend?”

“ _Friend_ ,” she emphasized, which was clearly not true. “Hi Brendon. This is Uncle Cecil.”

“Hey dude.” The teenager waved to him. “We were talking about you.”

“Not like, in a bad way,” Denise defended. “It’s just that Dad has been like, super-secretive about you.”

He tried to decide how to interpret that. Teenagers always thought their parents were hiding things, but Tom probably was. “The whole story came out very quickly. He probably didn’t know what to say.”

“But Grandpa Eddie wasn’t your father.”

“No.” He looked around, but no one else seemed to be in the hallway. “Your grandmother is very sensitive about it, so it’s better not to discuss it around her.”

“Do you know who he is?”

“Yes.” Ever since Carlos recited the passage from the Necronomicon, he was sure. It was as if a puzzle piece was inserted into place in his brain.

“Is he ... alive?”

“Yes. And is this really a conversation for your boyfriend?”

“I’m not going to say anything!” Brendon said and his voice went adorably high when he was nervous.

“And we’re not going out,” Denise said. “So have you ever met him?”

“No. And I don’t want to.”

“Okay, okay. But it’s just like … there’s a big mystery around it that we’re supposed to ignore.”

He realized it was best to be direct with the two would-be adults listening. “Your grandmother doesn’t know his name because she doesn’t want to know. She was raped by the side of a highway and left for dead. And his name is unspeakable. Does that satisfy?”

There was a long pause before Denise managed a, “Yeah. _Oh my God_ , I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He was firm about it. “There’s a reason your dad didn’t tell you. So just don’t bring it up again, all right? You can ask me anything else you want.”

“I didn’t know.”

“I know you didn’t,” he said, tapping his foot patiently. “Reporters learn by asking. So ask about something.”

She was a lot more hesitant this time. “Okay, so can I ask about religion?”

“Yes.”

“Are you a Druid or a Pagan or something like that? Because Dad doesn’t know.”

“I don’t know either. What’s a Druid or a Pagan?” He scratched his head. “Can you be both at once?”

A text popped up in the corner of Denise’s computer screen, and though she tried to cover it, it clearly read OMG THIS GUY IS TRIPPY.

“Um no, I don’t think so. I think you have to be one or the other. So what do you believe in?”

“Hmmm.” This was worth a thoughtful answer. “I believe that it’s a good idea to honor the cosmic forces that you protect you when they need honoring and thank them when they need thanking, and for the most part try not to ask them for things because it gets on their nerves. How does that sound?”

“Is that what you learned growing up?”

“Well I had to learn the community chants and moans. It would be inconsiderate not to. I wouldn’t be a very good citizen if I wasn’t contributing to group worship. But I sometimes miss the night screams because I’m a heavy sleeper.”

“People go out at night and scream at the desert?”

“Not at the desert. At the void. The space between the stars. It likes that kind of thing.”

“Can anyone live come live with you?”

“In my apartment? No. They have to submit an application with references.”

“I mean in _Night Vale_.”

“No. The City Council decides. Night Vale decides. I don’t have much input, actually. I was very lucky with Carlos, because he was an Outsider. I guess the town just wanted him.” He knew he got a little googly-eyed when talking about it, but that had never stopped him on the radio. Or anywhere else in Night Vale. Or ever. “It can be dangerous for people who don’t belong.”

“Like mob violence? With pitchforks and torches?”

“No, that’s for the library. I mean ... well, you’ll find it gross. I think Carlos’s team died because their blood was sucked out of their body by their pores, or something like that –,” He looked at Denise’s face and covered his mouth. “Shit! I wasn’t supposed to say anything about blood. Or sacrifices. Or blood sacrifices. That was like, rule number one for Carlos. Well ... don’t tell your dad. Or Carlos. _Definitely_ don’t tell him.”

“Have you ever done a blood sacrifice? With your own blood?”

“Yester – no! No more of these questions! I promised.” He put his hands up. “Another question. But not about blood. Or anything blood-related.”

“Um, okay.” She was far more hesitant now. “I heard my dad talking to Aunt Shelly, and he says you don’t believe in mountains.”

“Correct.”

"But ... you can see a mountain from the highway. Like when we drove to dinner last night.”

“I’m willing to believe there is _one_ mountain,” he said. “But it could have been built by mountain apologists.”

“But there was more than one.”

“It could be the same mountain, and just be always teleporting. Like clock towers. So when you look in one direction you see the mountain and you look in another you see the same mountain.” He ignored her raised eyebrows. “Carlos insists otherwise, but I’m willing to date an apologist. It’s not a deal breaker.”

“How did you meet Carlos?” she asked. “If it’s not too personal.”

“Oh.” He knew he was beaming to the point that the lights were flickering above him, but he couldn’t really control that. He told her of their first meeting, which only involved a handshake in the end. “And then he says I hounded him on the radio for the next year and he was very embarrassed. I don’t know why. Love shouldn’t be embarrassing and he _is_ perfect.”

“You just talked about your crush on the radio?”

“Well, I would have been lying if I said it wasn’t on my mind. And I think it helped him get the town’s acceptance. I’m not really supposed to talk about my personal life, but I sneak things in sometimes. There’s _so_ much I’m not allowed to talk about.”

“Like what?” Brendon said from the computer.

“Oh. Hmm. Well, that’s the problem. I’m not allowed to talk about it. Or it will get banned while I’m talking about it. I’ll get a notice from the Sheriff’s Secret Police and I’ll have to make a reversal. Sometimes they’re hard to keep track of. But I guess they’re not listening here so ...” And it felt good to be naughty, just this once. “Let’s see. There’s the shape in Grove Park that no one acknowledges or speaks about. There’s the dog park, which is forbidden to people and dogs. And clouds. And Station Management doesn’t like me discussing them. And those anti-Federalist feral dog packs. And the moon was banned for a little while.” He exhaled the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “It’s so strange to talk about it. I should probably stop. I don’t want to get into a bad habit.”

Denise searched for a response. He let her take her time. “You know that it’s nuts, right? That you live in a crazy town?”

“I am aware of Night Vale’s uniqueness,” he replied. “It’s my home. I was born there and I was raised there. I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. How many people can say they’re spending their lives in just the right place for them?”

“Wow.” Denise’s word was probably an understatement, and she looked a little shell-shocked as he was edging toward his Radio Voice without meaning to. “Thanks, Uncle Cecil. And I won’t tell Dad about ... whatever it was we were talking about.”

He grinned. “Now you’re getting the hang of it.”

            ****************************************

To the best of Carlos’s knowledge, Cecil did not sleepwalk that night. He tossed and turned in their makeshift shared bed, mumbling incoherently in his sleep, but he stayed horizontal the whole time.

            ****************************************

Yukon, Canada

The airport was finally deserted, or at least the check-in counter was. People had already boarded their flights or reached their gates, and the one service shop shut down after midnight so they were stuck with vending machines and a water fountain. George was ready to close up, or hoping to do so, when he heard the motion-sensors go off and the front doors of the relatively small lobby slide open. It was black outside except for some dying lights in the parking lot and the lobby was on night mode, so he could barely see the new arrival but could hear him from the clack-clack of his double forearm crutches hitting the ground with a casual effort behind them. Though the man had no visible injuries, it was immediately noticeable from the way his legs were carried in his baggy pants that they were deformed in some way, both of them bent and one not fully hitting the ground as he seemed to hop forward.

His pants weren’t the only thing that was filthy. He wore a large trench coat that must have originally been tan but was stained and tattered. He was wearing his backpack under it, so it appeared as though he had a very large hump in his back. His fedora-style native hat was damp from perspiration and maybe frost. His face was not very appealing, and sent a shiver up George’s spine. It almost seemed crooked in some way, distorting his heritage, though from the general color of his skin and the native jewelry he was wearing, he was probably some form of Inuit from the Territories. He didn’t seem very old, but his hair was perfectly white, and his beard more of an extended, goatish goatee. His black eyes were very intimidating, and George took an unintentional step back, happy that the counter was between them. The man also smelled of something foul and hard to trace.

“I need to get to Santa Cruz,” the customer said when he finally came to a halt. Pure determination made his face even harsher. “Immediately.”

George found he was in a particular hurry to check the computer. “There’s only one more plane out tonight that’s going south, but it won’t take you to California. You’ll need at least one connecting flight. Probably two.”

“That’s the best you can do?”

“Sorry, sir. That’s not a normal destination for this airport. If you drive – “

“I don’t have time to drive to another airport. Put me on that plane,” he said, sneering as he reached into his jacket and pulled out a wallet. Inside was cash that he placed on the counter in a pile. Sometimes Natives lived in cash economies.

“Any checked bags?”

“No.” Frankly, the guy looked like everything he owned was on his person.

“Does your carry-on contain anything liquid, flammable, or potentially hazardous?”

“No.” He was impatient with the computer booking, despite it being near-instantaneous. “I need to get to Santa Cruz. There’s someone I have to find.”

George did not envy that person.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've finished writing this story and am thinking about a new one. Would people be interested in how Cecil became the Voice of Night Vale? There wouldn't a whole lot of Carlos in it. Probably none, actually.

Chapter 6

Carlos was woken not by Cecil managing another midnight walk but by the normal rustling of a slow-moving form under the warm sunlight coming in through the window. Cecil looked down and ran his hands through Carlos’s hair. “Do you want to keep sleeping?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Do you want to get up?”

“No.”

Cecil smiled, or looked like he smiled, because it was hard to tell with so many shadows and sans glasses, but he rejoined Carlos on their shared beds, pulling the blanket over them. “Sweet, perfect Carlos. What would I have done without you?”

“Had a less interesting Thanksgiving. Or more. Wasn’t there a narwhal attack last year? I forget.”

“That’s why you stay under the bed. They never think to look there as long as you have long sheets that hang off the side.” Cecil kissed him on the forehead, then the cheek, then the shoulder. “I haven’t been a very good boyfriend.”

“You’ve been great. This is possibly the best Thanksgiving I’ve ever had.”

Cecil stopped kissing him long enough to say, “You mean it?” Which made Carlos regret saying it.

“It meats micro-waving a TV dinner of sliced turkey at the lab, so yeah. Definitely. I don’t want to jinx it, but I don’t see how it could get bette –,” but his body was suddenly more interested in moaning than speaking. Cecil, who straddled him, looked like he was wearing the blanket as a shawl.

“Shhh.” He put a finger to Carlos’s lips. “You’re going to wake everyone.”

“Cecil you no I can’t – “

Cecil cupped his hand over Carlos’s mouth. “Give it your best try.”

            ****************************************

Sometime later, when Carlos emerged from his daze and showered, Cecil was already helping make pancakes, which for a large crowd involved a lot of stirring mixes, though he was disappointed in their lack of jarred bugs for toppings, and everyone else’s reluctance to catch a few fresh ones outside. Blood flies were not native to this region, Carlos explained, which he did not exactly know to be true but did end the topic of conversation.

It was a warmer day than the others, the best possible day for the beach. Cecil had, needless to say, never seen the ocean before, and did not say he’d seen it in Europe. The prospect of stripping down and going in the water in a borrowed swimsuit (because why would he own one, exactly?) did not seem all that appealing to him, and he could not even be talked into wearing shorts, which he felt were “undignified” for a man of his profession.

“You’re on the radio,” Carlos said.

“And we have a dress code!” Cecil replied indignantly. Also he might have been a little terrified of the endless water but he definitely wasn’t going to admit it. He only got his feet wet before retreating to the umbrella with his mother, who lacked the necessary balance to walk far on sand without assistance.

It was Matt who spent most of the time watching over the kids because he was big enough to haul just about anybody out of the water. Tom also more or less disappeared when he got a phone call, and retreated to a dune to continue the conversation.

“It’s Marlene,” Shelly said knowingly. “His ex. Their divorce started out okay but it got messy.”

“It’s very hard on children,” Marie said in Cecil and Carlos’s direction. “Custody battles are so difficult because both parents love them so much. Do they have those in Night Vale?”

“Usually they come to an agreement,” Cecil said, “because otherwise they have to split the kid by order of the City Council, and no one wants the bottom half. They say they do but they definitely want the thinking and speaking organs. You know, the personality.”

His mother laughed and patted him on the shoulder. Whatever Shelly did, she did it silently, and Carlos just took another swig of beer, trying to get the image of a torso and a pair of legs waiting for the school bus out of his mind.

“Did you ever think about having children?”

“I never had anyone to think of having them with,” Cecil replied, and Carlos just sunk lower in his chair. “Carlos? Would you like to add something, my darling Carlos?”

“No.” He dug his feet into the sand. “I would not like to add anything at this time.”

Cecil sighed. “Looks like we’re going to have to wait for mandatory adoption day. We haven’t had one of those in years so I’m sure we’re due soon.”

“I am choosing not to partake in this conversation anymore.”

“Ah, well. If we get one we can always put him or her out in the scrublands and wait for the blue helicopters. It’ll take a few hours at most.”

Carlos polished off the bear and cracked open another.

Cecil ran his hands through Carlos’s hair. “You would make a great father. You could teach them so much science!”

“He’s not ready, dear,” his mother said, which summed up what Carlos thought of the situation. “There’s no rush. I already have plenty of grandchildren. Though I could always use a few more.”

“Don’t look at me,” Shelly said, accepting a beer from the cooler from Carlos. “I had my tubes tied after the last one.”

Carlos broke into laughter that came out like a snort, and if Cecil was staring, he intentionally managed to miss it.

            ****************************************

The crew opted for a simple dinner of pizza, as everyone was already sick of leftovers, and a drive into town for a movie. Cecil offered to stay home with his mother, who was more interested in watching PBS and falling asleep in an armchair, but she told him to enjoy himself, and he was eventually talked into a kids movie because he seemed to be most willing to put up with a horde of them while the adults went to the next theater over.

“Cecil is good with kids,” Matt said to Carlos. “He’s a natural.”

“He does go to PTA meetings, but I think that’s more so he can get into fights with other childless adults in public,” Carlos said with a shrug as he watched one of Matt’s taller daughters try to literally drag Cecil by his ear. “On the other hand he didn’t exactly freak out when the entire town’s children went missing for two weeks. So there’s that.”

It was nice to be in a theater that wasn’t haunted with ghosts who liked to spoil the ending, though usually the ending of a Night Vale movie was “when the irritated eye stops blinking at you and the film stops.” After the movies, the kids were tired and cranky but wanted ice cream, all of them, _again_ , and there were major disputes between them of who got to ride in which car and whom was sick of riding with whom.

Carlos was getting a headache. “C’mon, let’s try to get in an adult car,” he said to Cecil, who seemed to be staring off into the distance of the parking lot. “Cecil?”

Cecil blinked and seemed to be coming out of a spell. “Huh? Oh, yes, let’s.”

They ended up in Tom’s car, which only seated four, with his daughter Denise because his son Brian didn’t want to spend any more time with his sister if he didn’t have to, or whatever. Carlos wasn’t paying attention. They also all agreed not to stay for ice cream. Cecil expressed mild disappointment at the lack of meat-flavored options, particularly game meat, but in the car he just went quiet and stared out the window. The moon was fairly fool and he could doubtlessly see the mountains they passed, but Carlos decided not to say anything.

“G-d, Dad, could you drive any slower?” Denise’s face was illuminated by her iPhone screen.

“Why? Do you have somewhere to be?” he retorted. “This is practically a one-lane road. I’m not going to – “

Whatever Tom was not going to do, he was now definitely not going to do it, because the car, which had been perfectly placed in its proper lane on the rural road, crashed headlong into an unknown barrier, the slant of which sent the car careening to the right and coming to a stop from a combination of the friction from the turn and the tree that came up behind it. Unlike in the movie Carlos had just watched, it did not burst into flames or go off a cliff, nor did Tom’s airbag inflate in a particularly amusing or ironic way. There was just a long silence cause by shock.

“Denise!”

“Dad, I’m okay.”

“Is everyone okay?” Carlos looked at Cecil, who gave him a reassuring smile and unbuckled. “Oh my G-d.”

“It just came out of nowhere,” Tom stuttered, more to himself than anyone else, as he was more concerned with getting his passengers out of the car. Though the vehicle had sustained considerable damage on front and back ends, the middle hadn’t collapsed, so they were all unharmed. “What the hell was that?” he finally managed.

He turned the headlights on bright, and they could see that it was the road itself, which had impossibly risen into the sky about four feet, the asphalt belt like a wire to create a barrier for their car. Bare earth was visible and disturbed, still leaving a cloud of dust that was just now dissipating.

“Shit!” Tom said. “Something happened to my phone!””

“There’s gross stuff all over it,” Denise said.

Carlos checked his, a sinking feeling entering the pit of his stomach. Not only was he unable to get it to turn on but it was leaking strawberry jam between the keypad. And they were alone in the woods, on the path to the beach house, until someone found them.

He turned to Cecil, who was gone from his side and now standing in the direct middle of the room. He hadn’t gone for his phone. He wasn’t doing anything except concentrating on the burled asphalt barrier directly in front of him.

“Cecil?”

Without looking away from his fixed point, Cecil put his hand up to silence him. Or hold him back. Either one.

The road in front of them collapsed. More accurately, it fell and attempted to take its more original, flat shape, but was now uneven and in gravel pieces. Carlos could hear the sound of metal awkwardly clanking in a way to indicate something was working just slightly improperly, and the sound of something more like a soft rubber against the pavement meant to muffle the sound. “Stay back,” he said to Tom and Denise.

He was a scientist in Night Vale. If need be, _he_ would run into danger.

But it was like they weren’t there for Cecil and the man attempting to approach him, if it was a man. It was more like a shape with hunt in a trench coat, and his legs sagged under him and his crutches, only one of them fully reaching to the ground. His hair was visible because it was white, almost perfectly matching the color of Cecil’s, and he had a wild beard and odd stone jewelry on, most of it white as well.

There was a hiss but no words, and Cecil cringed and held his head. Carlos ran to his side but Cecil grabbed his arm and used almost pushed him away. “Speak in English,” Cecil said to the person across from him.

“You must be Cecil.” It was a man, if the voice was any indication. He kept hoping forward, because it really was more of a hop, and his filthy clothing came closer to the light. He was smiling in a disconcerting way, his mouth full of yellow and jagged teeth. He looked briefly to the side. “And you must be Carlos.”

“Have we met?” Because honestly, they could have.

“He’s seen you,” Cecil said. “He was controlling me. That was why I was sleepwalking.” He sounded like he was confirming a long-held theory. “The wards were holding _him_ in the room.”

“You do not stare at a lot of things that are indicative of where you are,” the man said. “And it seemed you couldn’t hear me.” He stepped forward once more, and this time Cecil flinched back and almost took a step in the opposite direction. “I’ve been looking for others for years, and occasionally finding them, but you were new.”

Cecil’s voice was actually rather flat, as if he was just attempting to process facts. “You found me when I left Night Vale.”

Mitchell’s voice interrupted Carlos’s thoughts. _Night Vale protects Cecil_. Even though Cecil didn’t seem to be paying much attention to him, Carlos squeezed his hand. “Who are you?”

“Technically, my name is Isaac. But these sorts of things don’t usually matter to you people.”

He did not mean Cecil, who finally said, “He’s my brother.”

“ _Another one?_ ” Tom called out from wherever he was hiding in the darkness. Hopefully far away, but definitely not far enough away.

“You and I share the same mother,” Cecil explained calmly. “Isaac and I share the same _father_.”


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

_Oh_ , was all Carlos could think. So Isaac wasn’t human after all. And that thing trailing behind him wasn’t a piece of loose clothing. It looked like maybe a serpentile tail?

“When the earth is cleared off, we will travel to the city between the two magnetic pools,” Isaac said and took another hop forward with his horribly bent legs. This time, Cecil did take a step back, and indicated for Carlos to do the same. “But we need help. They cannot take body without human blood.”

“I may have had a less traditional upbringing than you,” Cecil replied, “because I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I don’t like the tone of it. And I’ve been told it’s not a good idea to mention blood sacrifices in polite company.”

Isaac looked at Carlos, then over at Tom and Denise, who were hiding behind the car but still watching over the ruined windshield. “Are you serious?”

“Very.” Cecil did not back down. He seemed to grow a little as he talked. “While I am very pleased to discover your existence, perhaps now is not the time for the discussion of arcane matters in which I am very unschooled – “

“LIAR.” Isaac leaned to one side and with shocking sweat what was definitely a tail/tentacle that could move like a whip, and it smacked Cecil so hard he went flying back so hard there was an audible series of crunches and snaps when he hit the pavement far out of the headlight’s stream.

“Stay back,” Carlos ordered Tom, who didn’t need a lot of convincing. “Cecil!” His eyes were adjusting to the dark, and he could see Cecil flat on his back, having landed so hard that he’d broken the road beneath him. He did not appear to be moving.

But Carlos only got about halfway there before something grabbed him, something cold and slimy and Carlos screamed as it dislocated his shoulder. Denise screamed too, from behind the car. “Dad, do something!”

“No,” Carlos managed to say. “Run. Get help.” His arm really hurt, but the grip of the slithery thing with suction cups stayed clamped to his wrist, holding him up so his feet were a foot above the ground. Isaac strode forward, but there really was something wrong with his legs, because he still needed the crutches. His tale whipped noisily behind him, and the tentacle holding Carlos captive disappeared into unknown origins beneath his trench coat, which seemed to be inflating as he grew more incensed. He wasn’t that interested in Carlos, barely giving him any attention.

“You may have forgotten, but I can remind you,” he said to Cecil. “Get up.”

To Carlos’s surprise, Cecil was able to comply with the request. It was hard to make out, but he managed to get unsteadily to his feet despite what should have been a bone-shattering experience. He was breathing heavy and he was seething. “ _Let him go_.”

“ _H'nglui mglw'nafh_ ,” Isaac said, though it sounded more like he had two throats and they were both necessary to make that noise. “ _Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn!_ ”

Cecil gasped and bent over. He was barely standing, his movements mostly twitches. “I don’t understand you.”

“You do. You knew it before you were born,” Isaac insisted, carrying Carlos some distance behind him. “He spies us only dimly but he is our cousin, and we all know him. _Cthulhu fhtagn!_ ”

Cecil was now covering his hands with his ears. “No. No no _no_ – “

Carlos wanted to shout, to tell him that it would be all right even if that might have been a lie, but he was in too much pain to speak.

“ _Gnaiih!_ ” Isaac continued as Carlos’s ears began to hurt. “ _Thflthkh'ngha! Yog-Sothoth_!”

Carlos had only read the name in the dreaded Necronomicon, not spoken it – and definitely never in front of Cecil. That had been the right decision. As the final word left Isaac’s lips Cecil lit up – quite literally. His body gained a bio-luminescent glow and his eyes became glowing white, lacking pupils. He was not technically taller than he had ever been, but he was taller than Carlos had ever seen him, his limbs too long and all out of proportion.

“At last,” Isaac said, beaming with approval. “Do you know how long it’s taken me to find another one of us willing to – “

As Cecil came forward his body lost any sense of proportion, and his hands reached the ground in front of him with his back barely bending at all. He howled, but it was not the sound of a person; there was no person to be found in those impossible eyes. He reached forward not to embrace his brother but to smack him with one hand, and catch Carlos in the other. His hand was now big enough to clench Carlos by the waist, and the tension made Carlos feel that if Cecil gave it any more energy, he could easily snap him in two. He set him down – or more accurately, let him slide out, and Carlos hit the ground with a nasty shock to his knees. He wondered if he’d gone temporarily blind, because he didn’t see anything at all, and was unable to react until there was a tug on his bad arm, and he heard himself yelp.

“It’s me.” It was Tom. It sounded like Cecil just a little bit, but it was only Tom, who lead him behind the car, where Carlos realized his eyes were only shut. Even without looking behind him Carlos could see the spray of different colored lights, like lightening clashing and forming sparks that fell around them.

Carlos gathered himself despite his injuries. “Don’t look at him. Whatever you do, don’t look at either of them.”

Denise was crying. The brave, unflappable teenager was holding her hands over her ears and crying.

“What do they do in Night Vale?” Tom managed after some time spent huddling in terror behind the wreck. “Does this ever happen?”

He wanted to lie and say no. “If this were Night Vale, the Sheriff’s Secret Police would be hear by now. They exist for a reason.” Or a vague-yet-menacing government agency. Where was that all-seeing eye when he needed it?

The oncoming car lit the path behind them, and Carlos’s first temptation was to run in front of it and tell the guy to leave and save himself, or maybe just get Tom and Denise out of there. It was only when they were less blinded by the blinking lights did he notice it was not a normal car. It was a far more fantastic one, hovering four feet in the air and covered in unfamiliar signs and signals. It parked by extending tiny landing gear and landing like a helicopter, and a man with a terrible beard and a marching band uniform emerged.

“Don’t worry!” he said in a chipper voice. He held up what looked like a kind of puffer that you used to spray the fields for bugs. “I’ve come from my future but your past. You do not remember me because it is altered, but I saved you and I will save you again, and then I will go on to Night Vale!”

Holy shit. “You’re that traveler.” He was embarrassed that he didn’t know the guy’s actual name. “You die- “

“Don’t speak another word, good citizen! For me it is not happened but it must happen. But first, I must take care of this menace.” And he charged into the darkness down the road, into the shrieks and crunching noises.

“You know that guy?” The fact that Tom was capable of talking at all was impressive.

“Yeah. He’s a time traveler. He died in Night Vale like, a year ago. But I guess that doesn’t matter to him right now.” The Traveler was going to take care of these monsters. ‘The menace.’ “Oh shit. Cecil!” He looked at the remains of the back of the car. “Tom, I need you to help me find anything that can be used as a weapon.”

Tom mutely obeyed, smart enough not to ask why, but it was Denise who found the crowbar. Fortunately for Carlos it could be used one-handed.

“All right. Stay back here unless I call for you.” Carlos did not give them time to respond before dashing off down the road, where the lights from the car became dim but the sparks very bright and it seemed as if even the night stars were throbbing with anger. He tried not to look too closely at the two massive figures, something that was easier to do now that they were covered in a cloud of some kind of gas. It was slowing town their movements.

The Traveler stepped back out of the cloud and pulled down his gas mask. “Don’t worry! All it takes is a little chanting – “

Carlos did the first and only thing he could think of, and struck the traveler with the crowbar. With only one arm to swing, he barely managed to knock the gas pump out of the would-be warrior’s hands.

“What are you doing?”

“Cecil. He’s not what you think he is.” Which was a lie. Cecil was probably pretty close to what the Traveler thought he was. It just wasn’t the _whole_ of him. “I won’t let you hurt him.”

From the agonizing wails, it sounded like Cecil was already pretty hurt.

“Are you mad?” the Traveler demanded, which was a good question in general, but not for this specific situation. “The gas will only subdue them for so long. The right formula must be chanted to separate the starry parts of their – “

“ _No_.” Carlos grabbed him with his available hand and shook him, which meant pain shooting up his arm, which was not going to pop itself back into place. “Whatever Cecil might be to you, he’s a good person and I love him.”

The Traveler shook him off easily. “I’m sorry that our allegiances are not in line, but I must protect the human race from the wrath of the forgotten dark spaces.”

The Traveler turned away, already beginning his chant, and when his back was exposed Carlos could think of doing nothing else but hurling himself at the Traveler, pushing them both down on the pavement. He couldn’t hold him down with only one arm, and the time traveling adventurer was clearly in better shape than him, but Carlos had to try. The gas was spreading and he hoped it wasn’t poisonous to humans.

Beyond him he could hear an anguished, demoniac cry, “Eh-y-ya-ya-yahaah - ngh'aah'yuh... HELP! fffffffff - FATHER! FATHER! YOG-SOTHOTH!”

Carlos could not say from whom it originated, but they were definitely in trouble.

The Traveler eventually found his power gun and beat Carlos in the head with it. Between that, the gas that was making him choke, and the sounds that felt like they were tearing at his eardrums, Carlos took it especially hard and rolled to the side of the road, where he could not will his body to get up again. Above him, the sky had grown very dark, with less and less stars in each passing moment.

He was not aware that he had closed his eyes until he opened them again to the sounds of Denise ineptly whipping the Traveler with the crowbar. His jacket was too thick and she wasn’t strong enough to do any real harm, but he didn’t seem willing to hit a teenage girl. “Cecil’s my uncle! Let him go!” The stalemate ended when she was joined by Tom, who took no violent action but managed to corner the Traveler against his own car/time machine.

“Get lost,” Tom said, trying to sound as threatening as possible. “Or I’ll call the cops.”

“Night Vale,” Carlos said weakly. “He has to go to Night Vale. He’s going to meet a girl there.” He coughed, having accidentally swallowed a lot of gas and dirt. “Her name is Cactus something.”

The Traveler weighed his options. He would have to go through two people to continue his chanting, if he even could continue it at this point before anyone recovered. “So it must be!” he said with ridiculous bravado. “It is true I must return to Night Vale and save it yet again, but this time I will look for this Cactus Woman. Fair well, citizens!”

He got in his far and drove off once it was in a good hover, driving not in to the distance but into a flash that made his vehicle disappear entirely.

“He dies in Night Vale. The Hooded Figures get him,” Carlos said, with some relish. Tom tried to help him up, and cried out when his arm was pulled.

“We need to call an ambulance,” Tom said. But, again, no phones.

“Cecil can’t go to the hospital,” Carlos replied. The gaseous cloud was clearing, and fortunately it was still dark enough to not make out any specifics of the two figures far out in the road. They were still too big, but much smaller than they had been. “Is there a blanket in the back of the car?” He limped closer to the disaster zone and shouted, “Cecil?”

The lump to the left said, “ _OW_.” The voice was horribly distorted, as if the throat was torn apart and the different strains of language were coming from opposite directions. “ _CARLOS..._ ” But he/it couldn’t finish that thought, even if there was some familiar inflection in how he said his name.

He tried to look straight ahead, and not what was near his feet. Something was definitely slithering, or trying to slither, to him. “Cecil, you have to tell me how to help me you.”

“ _IT HURTS_.”

“Where? Where does it hurt?”

“ _UM_.” It made Carlos belatedly realize this might not be a good question to ask right now. “ _I DON’T FEEL RIGHT_. _I’M ALL APART_.” And that was probably putting it a little mildly.

“Hang on for me, Cecil.” He wished he knew what Algonquin had said, all those years ago. Something about calling Cecil back to being Cecil. Tom arrived with several pool towels, then turned and tried to make it not sound like he was vomiting. “Just hang on.” He methodically spread the blankets over Cecil, covering almost everything except what seemed to be the head, then turned and stared at (or slightly above) the thing called Isaac.

Even in his current capacity, Cecil was still a mind-reader. “ _HE’S MY BROTHER_.”

“He wants to destroy the world.”

“ _HE’S NOT BAD_ ,” Cecil said, wheezing a little. “ _INSIDE._ ” A too-long arm pointed to his eyes, or his head, or something in that vicinity. Carlos couldn’t make out what he was saying so he repeated. “ _INSIDE. I SAW_.”

“With your third eye?”

_“YES._ ” Cecil was trying to move around and maybe it was just him nodding. “ _OW._ ”

“Cecil, don’t try to move. We’ll take you ... back to the house, I guess.” He looked at Tom, who was too terrified to say anything.

“ _MY BLOODSTONES_ ,” Cecil replied.

That made sense. Or it did in Cecil’s world. Carlos turned to Tom, who definitely had nothing left in his whole digestive system at this point. “We need to get his bloodstones. They’re in his room at the house.”

“We can’t ... um, we can’t bring him back to the house.” Tom did not need to add, _like this_. “But I s-suppose we could try the pool house. It has a shower and we can get a cot ...” He wasn’t in love with the idea.

“Isaac too.”

Tom just looked mystified. Like he had had enough, and desperately wanted to shut down for the night when it was looking to get even longer.

“ _MY BROTHER_ ,” Cecil repeated.

“Check if your phone is working,” Carlos told Tom, because his was now smashed.

“Mine is!” Denise said proudly. “But it’s covered in blood.”

“It’s strawberry jam. Call – who should we call? Who can handle this? The less people, the better.”

“Matt and Shelly,” Tom said. “And they have the minivan with the collapsible third row. Are you sure you don’t need to go to a hospital?”

He wasn’t sure, but Cecil needed him, so he shook his head. “It’s okay. I live in Night Vale.”

             ****************************************

After not really being told why he was coming, Matt arrived with the van. Nobody tried to sum up the explanation to him at first, and let him curse instead. He needed to say ‘what the fuck’ a lot of times and it was better to just let him get it out of his system.

By now Cecil was more or less back to a more traditional size and shape, plus lumps under the blanket that were probably extra appendages. His face looked human, which was the most important thing, and he could sit up against the ruined car. The tentacles sticking out from under him were not moving and looked a little shriveled. His voice definitely wasn’t normal, but it sounded less inhuman and more like this throat was run over by a car, with maybe a little radio distortion on top of that. He didn’t seem interested in talking, but did like to lean on Carlos’s good side. His body was full of focused tension and Carlos just said his name over and over, with some minor things to justify it and sound like he wasn’t calling out to someone who was lost.

“So this is Cecil’s brother?” Matt finally said to the form under the blanket. He was still breathing, because his heaving could be seen from several feet away. “On his father’s side.”

Tom just swallowed. “Yeah.”

“You sure left some shit out of the explanation of where Cecil came from, didn’t you.”

“It didn’t seem appropriate at the time,” his brother-in-law replied. “A-and I really hoped it wasn’t true. You know, that Mom was crazy and Carlos was being nice and going along with her.”

“So what do we get? An exorcist?”

“No,” Cecil said, very weakly. “It would just ... hurt him. And ... non-consensual exorcisms ... are a felony.” His wheezing sounded like something was stuck in his lungs, or that his lungs weren’t back to where they should be. “Let me ... handle him.” Though it didn’t sound like Cecil could handle himself at the moment.

“Fuck that.”

“Carlos said ... families have to ... love each other. It’s ... required,” Cecil managed.

“You’re rephrasing it a little,” Carlos said, “but yeah, I did sort of say that.” He looked at Matt, who was less judgmental and more just scared. “Cecil was afraid to come here. He’d never left Night Vale. He thought you might not accept him, and not necessarily because of how he was conceived. It took a lot of courage, but really wanted see his mom, and he really wanted to meet you. And he says you’re a good person, so you probably won’t leave anyone on a country road, especially someone nobody else is going to help.” He suspected that not a lot of people had been helpful to Isaac in his life. He hadn’t grown up in Night Vale.

Matt took a deep breathe and said, “I need help folding back the seats.”

            ****************************************

It was logistically difficult, especially when it was so late and they were so tired. The rental car was abandoned after triple A was called. Cecil still couldn’t maneuver on his own, but he seemed like a person again. Isaac did wake up when they tried to move him, but only to curse in a foreign (but not _too_ foreign) language.

The drive back was tense and quiet, and surprisingly brief. They were only a few miles from the house. The lights were mostly out, the children having gone to bed, so it was a matter of getting the two most injured to the pool house as Carlos went for Cecil’s bloodstones, which were still in the box that he kept under the bed where his head rested.

In the pool house, everything was exposed to a very harsh light, and that was Carlos realized how bloody his clothing was, mostly from cuts and scrapes and helping others. Matt was strong enough to pop his arm back into its socket, which was the only major injury he knew he had to deal with. Carlos stripped down to his undershirt and maneuvered Cecil into the shower stall. His boyfriend had lost all of his clothing in the transformation, and retained several tentacles, which were translucent but hanging from him like he had a dead octopus on his back.

“They’ll dry up,” Cecil said. “Then they just sort of ... fall off.” He looked up, and he still had a couple of extra eyes in his head, most of them hidden by hair.

Carlos nodded and used the moveable shower head to hose him down, trying to get any remnants of the poison gas powder and other mysterious fluids that smelled awful out of his wounds. A lot of what appeared to be ink when down the drain before he wrapped Cecil in towels and handed him the box. Cecil cautiously placed them around him and leaned back against the tile, taking a deep breath. There was a faint hum from the stones, but nothing else.

“They hate me.”

“Cecil, you know they don’t.”

“Then they’re scared of me.”

“Well, yeah, a little,” Carlos said. “But not because of anything you could control. And you are ... a little terrifying sometimes, but I still love you.” He kissed him on his very wet head. “And I’m not even family.”

Cecil seemed to brighten a bit, even though he did in fact remain extremely pale. “I need some chanting time before I can help Isaac.”

“Yeah, okay. Just call when you need us, all right?” Carlos put a towel over his own shoulders and stepped out of the stall, closing the door behind him. He felt like a surgeon emerging from the OR, with all the people staring at him. “Yeah, so, he should be okay. Maybe not immediately, but there’s nothing we can do for him here.” He looked at the mass that was Isaac unconscious on the bench, still almost entirely wrapped up in blankets because, well. At least he had a human face again. “And he can help Isaac.”

“What was he doing here?” Shelly asked. She was the only other one who they’d woken, because they needed her car. She hadn’t seen the wreck, so she was taking things better than everyone else. “How did he find Cecil? Did they know each other?”

“Cecil was born in Night Vale because he needed to be born there,” Carlos explained. “It would protect him. That’s what Algonquin told your mother in the maternity ward. She didn’t know what that meant, exactly. We still don’t. But it must have kept him off the radar for people like Isaac.” He could not properly explain how Isaac found him, though he had his guesses. “Cecil says Isaac isn’t bad, and Cecil isn’t wrong about people. He gets ... impressions from people If Cecil thinks Isaac has good in him, then it’s true. At least to Cecil.”

“Did he do that to us?” Shelly said, though not in a particularly accusatory tone. It was just a lot of new information.

“He can’t shut it off. He told me you were all great, but he wouldn’t go into it because it was too personal for him to be talking about. Though I do think he thinks Michael is sort of a dick.”

“Yeah, uh, we all think that,” Shelly said, and there was a nice laugh. It was mean-spirited perhaps, but it felt good to laugh, if only in a tiny amount. “But Abby’s got to make her own choices.”

Carlos shrugged. “If he felt it was really serious he probably would have said something. He said he tries not to be judgmental. It’s too mean and it wears him down. He just wants ...” He sighed. “He just really wants your acceptance. He really wants to be part of this family.”

Everyone was silent for a very tense moment. Except for Denise, who was still on her cell phone, hopefully not texting the world about all of this. “Dad! Don’t be a douche.”

“Language,” Tom said, tired and flustered. “Okay. Sorry. What can we do?”

“We have to keep this from Mom,” Shelly pointed out. “There’s an extra guy here we can’t really explain. If we have to, we can just say he’s a friend of Carlos’s, I guess.”

Carlos looked at the possibly-unconscious Isaac and wondered if they would ever be friends. “Can he just stay here until we leave? No one has any reason to go in here if we say there’s a problem with the pool. And then ... I guess Cecil might want to take him somewhere. Like back to Night Vale.”

They settled on a story. Tom’s car had struck a fallen tree, but it was a rental, and everyone was fine. They were kept awake by the excitement. Also, the pool was too chlorinated for use. They scrambled together as many first-aid items they could find, and Tom insisted that Carlos see a doctor when he got back to Night Vale, but they didn’t stay in the crowded room. Carlos give them leave to go and returned to Cecil, who appeared to have fallen asleep in a meditative position. His body appeared mostly normal, and two dead tentacles had already fallen off his back and were lying in the drain.

“Cecil,” Carlos said. It didn’t take much to wake him. He passed him clothing brought in from the main house, and helped Cecil bandage his back.

Cecil was shown Isaac, still asleep on the bench, more or less human-sized but still retaining a long tail with a flap at the end that had suckers on it. He smelled _awful_.

“Isaac,” Cecil said in the tone yet insistent voice he often used on the radio. “Wake up.”

Isaac stirred, and kicked his legs out, and Carlos saw why he walked with crutches. He had goat legs like a satyr, and on top of that one of them (the left one) was malformed, and couldn’t reach as far. This was not a person who could fit in anywhere, maybe not even Night Vale. “Where the fuck am I?”

“Relax,” Cecil said. Or Radio Voice Cecil did, putting a hand on his bare shoulder. “You’re in Tom’s pool house. The Traveler is gone.”

Isaac coughed and opened his eyes. “What?”

“The man with the gun and the chanting,” Carlos said. “He’s gone back in time to be murdered by hooded figures, so we brought you back here. Cecil insisted.” He glanced at Cecil. “You have to clean the gas off. It leaves an irritating residue.” Cecil’s skin was still red and there were splotches all over his back similar to hives.

“What?”

“Isaac,” Cecil said very carefully, “ _Relax_.” Thanks to the Voice, or maybe just Cecil’s genuine nature, Isaac did not go into an angry panic. He was obviously disoriented and still in pain, and he didn’t talk much except to curse when Cecil hosed him down, an action that look a particularly long time with lots of soap and shampoo because he didn’t seem to have been a particularly clean person beforehand. He did speak a little, in some language Carlos didn’t begin to recognize, but Cecil just reassured him in English that he was safe.

Cecil’s clothes wouldn’t fit him, but Carlos’s would, at least from the waist up. They would need to find some baggier pants for his legs. When he emerged from the stall he was walking unassisted, but it was a very uncomfortable looking limp that made him lean heavily on his right leg. Aside from the legs - and the tail - he looked rather human until he reached for the offered water, and Carlos noticed he had eyes in the palm of each hand and a sizable hump that may or may not just be hidden tentacles.

As always, Cecil was astonishingly polite. “I do not believe you were properly introduced. Isaac, this is Carlos. He is a very important scientist doing important science things in Night Vale. And is my boyfriend.”

Isaac was very hesitant but eventually shook hands with his former would-be victim whose limp he had nearly torn off. He seemed a little stupefied by this situation. Carlos imagined he was not used to being introduced to anyone. It would be hard for him to pass as human, and his face was very ugly, with a goatish set of features. Beyond that is coloring indicated that he was probably Native American or Asian, but it was really hard to tell.

Carlos realized he was staring and looked down at the ground.

“My mother is here,” Cecil said, as if there were no awkwardness in the room at all. “And her children and grandchildren. You can stay, and I can help you get wherever you want to go tomorrow night, but you have to be quiet. Only a few people know you’re here.”

“Your ... mother?” Isaac looked very skeptical. “She’s alive?”

“Yes. She went on to get married and have a family after she had me.”

Isaac blinked, and it seemed like he was double-blinking, like he had two sets of eyelids. “They killed her ... the elders killed my mother when they found out what happened to her and tried to kill me when I was in the womb. The shaman stopped them.” It was the most human his voice had ever sounded, almost naked.

“I’m sorry,” Cecil said quietly. “My mother had to leave me in Night Vale, but she did live.”

“What is Night Vale?”

Cecil smiled. “It’s a place for people like us.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here were are, at the end again. If you have comments for what you'd like to see in the possibly-upcoming back story of Cecil's internship or anything else, please leave it in the comments.
> 
> Fun fact: "Cecil" means blind, and Isaac was the biblical patriarch who went blind. So that's how I got that name.

Chapter 8

Cecil woke before Carlos, which was unusual, but not so much considering the night before. Before he’d gone to bed Cecil cleaned up his cuts and scrapes and Carlos put crème on Cecil’s reddened skin. Now Carlos’s perfect skin was blemished by a Band-aid across his temple that was too lightly shaded to match his complexion. Cecil flicked Carlos’s hair in the morning sunlight but didn’t disturb him.

Before anything else, Cecil prayed in front of his bloodstone circle, now returned to the room. The stones were quiet, probably sapped of energy as he was, but he really did have a lot to be grateful for. The hoary void could be so frightening and at the same time so calming when you closed your eyes and let it wash over you, and you could begin your day that the knowledge that your insignificance meant there wasn’t too much to worry about. In relative terms your life was fine and would never be noticed as a man does not notice ants under his feet.

In the shower he pealed off the remaining two tentacles, which were basically long scabs of dead skin. Since becoming the Voice of Night Vale, his body had never seen any reason to grow defensive limbs; very few people could harm him or would dare to, and those that could would probably do it so fast he wouldn’t notice. It was always involuntary and he hadn’t even thought about it when he started dating Carlos, because why should he? He was worried for Carlos, not for himself.

His skin was much better, if still a little itchy and dry. He tried not to think about the night before, not because the events were insignificant but because he’d never felt like that, like being pulled apart and then reassembled. Or maybe he just didn’t remember. Cecil wasn’t stupid; he knew he didn’t remember a great deal of things. He didn’t recognize half the people in his high school yearbook, which he only had because he graduated before they were banned. But being connected to Isaac, and to the dark between the stars, he remembered not things that had occurred to him as Cecil Baldwin but that had occurred and would occur and were eternally occurring. However briefly, the edges of the void became visible and the sky became a map to points in space. If he could separate himself, and go there ...

These weren’t good things to think about.

Others were up, kids gathered around the television and his mother was on the porch overlooking the ocean. It really was impossibly vast, but she was so used to it she wasn’t even looking at it. She was looking at her knitting instead. She reminded him of Old Woman Josie and he smiled when she patted the chair next to her.

“You’re so pale,” she said, a little disapproving. “I thought you lived in a desert.”

“The void blocks the sunlight,” he said, “and when it doesn’t, it’s really too hot to go outside.”

“I heard you had a late night last night. Shelly said Tom wrecked the car.”

“It ran into an obstruction in the road. But yes. It was a very late night. You were lucky to miss it.”

“She also said Carlos ran into a friend? But she didn’t say it like that. I think she was a little confused.”

Cecil looked at his mother, and some fabric that was probably going to be a sleeve. Hopefully. “I remember everyone trying to get their stories straight.”

“So Carlos’s drunk friend isn’t staying in the pool house?”

“They’re not friends,” he said. “But I hope they’ll be. Isaac came looking for me. He didn’t even know I existed until I left Night Vale.”

“But he came looking for you?”

“He’s my brother, Mom,” he answered, because she was his mother and she was the last person he was going to lie to. “On the other side.”

She paused in her knitting, but he still didn’t doubt himself or his judgment. He was used to picking his words. Marie Kowalski looked out to the sea, but really she was looking out into nothing. “I tried not to think about it, but there must have been other women like me.”

“His mother didn’t live. So no, there are no other women like you.” He put a hand on hers, so thin and wrinkled and _soft_. “But you weren’t the first and I don’t think you’ll be the last. Dad is timeless and ageless.”

He didn’t want to make his mother cry, but her eyes were red, like she had already been through it all, many years ago. “Is he nice?”

Cecil had thought this over. “He’s had a rough life.” Because that was obvious without asking. “I don’t think he wants me to help him, but I’m going to try.”

She reached up and patted him on the head, smoothing out hair blown about by the wind. “Of course you will. You’ll always do the right thing.”

“I’ll try,” which was the best answer he could give her. “You might not want to tell the others I told you this.”

“They think I’m made of porcelain. And I had _them_!” But she could only chuckle. “Let’s not let them worry about it too much. They already worry all the time. Do you worry about me?”

“No, Mom,” Cecil said. “I think you’ll be just fine.”

            ****************************************

Logistically, the last day was difficult. There was packing and cleaning up the house (and a lot of vacuuming of rugs). The kids went to the beach one last time but said it was too cold to go in the water even after they had committed to teaching Cecil how to swim, something he avoided discussing until it was time to get on the road. They asked him to come back, of course – for _every_ Thanksgiving, and their birthdays, and Christmas, and Easter, and they would have added Groundhog’s Day and Breast Cancer Awareness Month if their parents hadn’t shushed them.

“Why don’t you come to Boston?” Abigail told him. “Google maps says it’s an hour from Arkham, and doesn’t Carlos ever have to teach?”

Cecil shrugged politely before Carlos had a chance, but wouldn’t rule it out. He was happy but tired. He wanted to go home. He didn’t tell Carlos that, but he knew.

“I appreciate everything you guys did last night,” Carlos told Shelly and Matt, when they had a moment alone. “I think it went as well as it could have gone.” For one, humanity wasn’t extinct. And that was a biggie.

“About Night Vale,” Shelly said. “We’re not visiting. Just so he knows.”

“Yeah, I can understand that.”

Everyone but Tom, their mother, and his kids remained at the end of the afternoon. Carlos booked an extra ticket to the airport closest to Night Vale, but he wasn’t sure how Isaac would get past security.

Speaking of, their new guest hadn’t left the pool house. He seemed confused as to whether he was a prisoner or not, even when they assured him he wasn’t, and he managed to stomach a little food but slept most of the day. His form did not change any further, and there was some business of trying to find clothing between the available people that would hide enough of him. Fortunately his hat and crutches had been recovered from the crash site.

Cecil talked to him first. Carlos wasn’t privacy to what passed between them, but Cecil had said what he needed to say to take the edge off Isaac’s fear and temper. This was difficult to do, as Isaac was clearly a walking abomination who was intent on destroying the world as they knew it to make way for the reign of the Old Ones, and also he had never been loved. It was a guess on Carlos’s part but he suspected it was a good guess.

Carlos only saw him again when he came outside. Everyone else was gone except Tom and his family, and his son and mother were inside. On the pool deck, Isaac looked skeptically at Carlos, and his piercing eyes, which were black, always seemed to double-blink in a disconcerting way. “Cecil says I should trust you.”

“You have no reason not to,” Carlos replied. “You’re Cecil’s brother, and believe or not, you’re not the oddest or even most hostile person I’ve seen in the past year.”

“And you think I should go to Night Vale with you?”

“If Cecil thinks the town will accept you, he’s probably not wrong. He is the Voice of Night Vale. And if you don’t want to stay, you don’t have to. Or we could put you on a plane somewhere else.”

“I can’t go back to the Territories. Not for a while.” He did not have to explain why. “Cecil says it’s a desert.”

The truth was, Carlos was more than a little nervous taking this mostly-man back to Night Vale. Not for Isaac’s sake but for theirs. And the world’s. But this was Cecil’s _brother_. There wasn’t going to be any discussion over it. “We have air conditioning.”

Since Isaac had no more arguments left – and clearly, no place to go – he snorted or snarled or made some sort of sound that meant he was willing to give it a try. Carlos looked to Cecil, who was beaming with appreciation, and smiled.

“Can we come and visit you?” Denise, who had been sort of hiding behind the fence, emerged, and to be fair only once had to look away from Isaac, whose appearance was disturbing.

“No,” her father said, emerging from the house with suitcases. He looked at Cecil and softened. “I’ll think about it. But if you tell your mother anything about Night Vale, you’ll sabotage the whole thing. So don’t.” he looked at Isaac. “It was nice to meet you.” He put good effort into saying that, considering their meeting had been anything but nice.

Isaac grumbled something that sounded like a positive response.

“His people skills might need a little work,” Carlos whispered to Tom as he went back inside one last time say goodbye to Cecil’s mother, who demanded that he, being a scientist and a professor, had a professional obligation to take care of Cecil. It wasn’t clear how those things were connected, but it didn’t matter in the end.

“You made this all happen,” she said when he bent over for a hug. “I’m so grateful. Take care of my boy.”

“Mom,” Cecil said with very minimal protest. “I’m older than Carlos.”

“I don’t care,” she replied. “Everyone needs _someone_.”

            ****************************************

Carlos was not sure how they got through airport security on one of the busiest days of the year. As in, literally, he did not remember the whole experience, because Cecil was using the Voice and Isaac had his own way of getting around closely-watching eyes (having a visible disability helped). It was all just patches until they were on the airplane, this time with sunglasses and baseball caps so Cecil didn’t have to endure seeing the second skin of unfamiliar people. He also liked _Crime and Punishment_ , he said. It was slow but had a suitable amount of ennui for his liking. He was going to recommend it go on the list of approved books when he had a chance.

It was not until they were back in California/Arizona’s desert that he explained his plan very carefully but without a lot of detail. “I’m going to go on the radio. Technically I have the right to broadcast whenever I want. I’m going to say some things that will keep the Secret Police away from Isaac, but it will probably mean I’ll get assigned to HR retraining. They have to let me out of the box for the Monday broadcast, so I probably won’t see you until after that. Or possibly longer. Station Management is always very hard to read.”

They were stopped at the gas station two exits from town. Carlos was getting his last taste of wheat (and its byproducts) and Cecil seemed to be stocking up on Gatorade. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” He had never asked what a night in the Dark Box entailed and gotten an answer.

Cecil had such a confident smile. “Carlos, please. I wouldn’t be the Voice of Night Vale if I couldn’t handle it. It’s how they weed out candidates. Just take care of Isaac for me.”

“I don’t need help!” Isaac shouted from the snack aisle before staring down an overly curious cashier. But maybe he sensed that he was in for something else when they crossed the town line, past the hanging, obscure sign that welcomed them home, and the night sky went from dark blue to an sooty black with gold streaks.

Cecil was dropped off at the radio station, with was still glowing purple and broadcasting, but otherwise closed for the night. Carlos kissed him protectively in the parking lot. “Text me, okay?”

Cecil wouldn’t make any promises, but he gave an encouraging smile, and stayed in the parking lot until Carlos drove off. Halfway to Cecil’s apartment, the radio stopped playing slurping sounds and Cecil began to speak.

“ – sorry for that interruption, dear listeners. I know you were all enjoying the sound of someone rudely eating linguine, but I just couldn’t help express my enthusiasm at being back at my broadcast booth after a brief vacation to the outskirts of town.”

Carlos couldn’t help but wonder if Cecil considered the outside world “outskirts” or if he just wasn’t allowed to mention he had left Night Vale on the radio. Isaac stared very hard at the car radio, as if expecting something to pop of it.

“It was good to get some fresh, mildly radioactive air. And I got to spend it with _Carlos!_ I won’t get into the juicy details – not tonight, anyway. Trust me, some things are worth waiting for.”

Carlos realized how much he’d missed Cecil’s voice on the radio. Even with Cecil around him, all the time, occasionally using his radio voice. This was an entirely different experience. Carlos felt elevated, like he was floating a little above his seat, and he had to force himself to refocus on the road.

“Speaking of news, I have a relative visiting Night Vale and I’m very happy to have him, and I’m sure you will all feel the same. His name is Isaac, and he is a little shy, so please don’t knock on our door or leave any bloody jello mold confections outside our door. I think we’re still stuffed from Thanksgiving! But if you do see him, please show him the kind of consideration and welcoming attitude we show all of our favorite Outsiders. He has white hair and is otherwise very normal-looking. And you may want to politely update him on any new civil ordinances with massive fines or death penalties. It can be so hard for new arrivals to keep up.”

It sounded like something was heating up in the background, like a gigantic machine with a lot of steam.

“Well, it looks as if Station Management has kindly requested, in their own way, for me to return you to your normal broadcast day. Good night, Night Vale. Good night.”

“What the fuck was that?” Isaac demanded after Carlos switched off the pasta sounds on the radio and pulled up to the parking lot for the apartment complex. “Why did he say that about me?”

Carlos sighed, knowing Cecil was going to pay for this, and Isaac wouldn’t understand the cost for a long time. “People listen to Cecil when he’s on the radio. Really _listen_. That’s why he’s not supposed to say things that aren’t given to him by the authorities like he just did, because he just _made_ you a welcomed visitor and he just _made_ you normal looking. And people are going to think exactly as he tells them to.” He opened the car door, finding himself tired and worried. “Welcome to Night Vale.”

            ****************************************

Cecil did not reappear for three days. His show ran as usual, with some pre-recorded segments and Cecil otherwise reading the news in an even, somewhat monotone voice, barely focusing at all on Steve Carlsberg’s obnoxious new car and fax about the kids smoking in Mission Grove Park. He did not answer his phone and when Carlos swung by the station, he was told that Cecil was either busy in the booth or ‘not currently available.’ Carlos began to worry that they might take his memories of Santa Cruz but figuring out a way to keep Isaac in the timeline.

Speaking of which, his guest was rude, dirty, but somewhat docile in comparison to how he had initially burst into their lives. He did not want to go outside or be seen, which was understandable, but eventually he needed food and clothing that he didn’t have to hand wash in the sink. He eyed Carlos very suspiciously when it was suggested that they visit Target and maybe a grocery store, but he eyed Carlos suspiciously in general, as if he didn’t know what to make of him. They didn’t talk much; it didn’t come naturally to either of them.

People did stare at him at Target – or they stared initially, until Carlos said Isaac’s name rather loudly, and then they stopped staring and resumed their shopping not out of guilt but total disinterest in their long-tailed half-goat of a person. Isaac would blank when salespeople were nice to him, and offered to help him find or carry things, since he was new, and gosh it was a big store wasn’t it! And they suggested different types of bear mace, and fly traps depending on whether he would be eating them or just wanted to get rid of them, and lots and lots of cheap radios, even though everyone always had theirs on at night and it would be redundant. Carlos thought he might have even seen Isaac smile when a particularly attractive saleslady (a relative of Cactus Jane) helped him bag his items so it fit into the pack he had slung over his shoulders.

They finally went to Big Rico’s, where the same thing happened, and people politely introduced themselves to Isaac after Carlos said his name in line but didn’t stare, avoid looking him in the eyes, or vomit. Carlos picked up a slice for Cecil, which he gave to the only intern willing to come out and meet him. There were two Sheriff’s Secret Police squad cars in the parking lot, something Carlos had never seen before at the station, and he did not comment on it and his heart ached.

Carlos could breathe again when he got a text from Cecil asking for a ride after Wednesday’s show. As much as Carlos wanted to pelt him with questions, he saw how tired Cecil looked and hugged him instead. Cecil shook his head at the mention of a hospital, of course, and silently got in the passenger’s seat. HR retraining usually just made him quiet and too exhausted to drive if he was coming straight off a show, but the damage seemed to be more extensive. His button-down shirt was stained with patches of blood, particularly in a pool below his neck like his nose had been bleeding. One eye was almost closed up from being swollen, and three of his fingernails were missing. Carlos didn’t comment on any of this because Cecil didn’t seem in the mood.

“What the fuck happened to you?” was his half-brother’s greeting at the apartment door. It even sounded like there might be genuine worry in there, hidden below layers of suspicion and defensiveness.

Carlos was a little worried Cecil might not remember Isaac, and was thrilled when Cecil smiled weakly. “How have you been? Have you eaten at Big Rico’s yet?”

“Uh, yeah.” Isaac didn’t know what to do with that answer, or Cecil’s lack of self-awareness.

“Have people been nice to you?”

“... Yeah. I went to Target – Carlos took me to Target. We used your credit card.”

“Great.” Cecil was trying to work up more energy than he had. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to lie down.”

“Gatorade,” Carlos said, nudging a bottle into his unbroken hand. “Drink it.”

“Oh, _Carlos_ ,” Cecil grinned. “Sweet, _perfect_ Carlos.” He kissed him on the cheek and retreated to the bedroom.

Carlos went back to fixing dinner, trying to avoid Isaac’s angry expression that looked like it could pin a man to the wall. “We didn’t say Night Vale was perfect. I don’t like it either, but you can’t fight City Hall. Some people did _literally_ try to do that, and it ate them.”

Isaac didn’t laugh. It wasn’t meant to be a joke. But he did suppress some of his anger as he took his plate.

            ****************************************

Isaac had had a very bad life.

Carlos learned this over the next few weeks, mostly from listening in on conversations between Cecil and Isaac that were not meant to be particularly secret. Isaac could not pass as human as Cecil could. He was not accepted by his Inuit tribe as Cecil was in Night Vale. He had only the most rudimentary education in ordinary things, but convinced several shamans from competing tribes to show him darker, more forbidden information. He’d tried to steal the Kremlin’s copy of the Necronomicon, but without success. He’d read a lot of it though, in scraps he found in different libraries. And he was always looking for others, for the spawn of Yog-Sothoth who were also often failed experiments. There were two in Europe, both in sanitariums and were basically rendered drugged imbeciles by their doctors.

He didn’t know what to make of Carlos. That was obvious. Not because Carlos was gay and living with Cecil, but that he was living with Cecil at all and was tolerating Isaac’s presence pretty well. Most people did not do so, or stick around long enough to try.

Cecil, of course, acted as if his half-brother was an absolutely normal person in every way who was just down on his luck. He helped him fill out a residency permit and apply for reduced-income housing, as well as disability and tuition wavers for Night Vale Community College’s Adult Learning Center. Isaac didn’t have to stay or take anything that was offered, Cecil said several times, but the good people of the City Council had a civic responsibility to offer him something, and they would come through because Night Vale was such a wonderful place that cared about its people, citizens or resident aliens.

“My brother is a bit of a loon, isn’t he?” Isaac said to Carlos one day when Cecil was at work. It was the first casual conversation he’d initiated between them.

Carlos just shrugged, which was his way of answering in the affirmative to someone who’d tried to turn Cecil into an eldritch horror and wipe all sentient beings off the earth’s crust.

The forms came through very quickly – suspiciously quickly – and Cecil was thrilled. Isaac was more apprehensive, but Cecil’s enthusiasm was infectious, especially when they saw the apartment. It was a typical run-down affair, but it was far out in the wastes and quiet, which was what Isaac wanted, and it had books from its last and very dead owner, which intrigued him. And Cecil liked to decorate. He made a whole project out of it, while Carlos and Isaac more or less watched, mystified.

“And you have those big South-facing windows. That’s good! Nothing ever comes from the North. Don’t bother with it.” Cecil rolled away the old carpet, which was too blood-stained to be saved. “And someone always put down pentagrams that still work! I was afraid they were going to be too old, and have lost all their energy. It’s a huge hassle to redo them when you’re working with carved wood.”

They spent Isaac’s first night in his new (possibly temporary) home, eating takeout from Big Rico’s around the wooden table in the empty dining room. The other apartments in the building were empty, unless the portal with a wig that floated in the middle of a vacant room was considered a flat mate.

“Carlos,” Cecil said between mouthfuls of pizza on corn bread, “do you know how to make a Christmas card?”

“What, you mean from scratch?” Carlos hadn’t thought about the holiday. Festivities in Night Vale were muted and pagan-based. Sure, there were some cardboard mock-ups of Santa in the windows of shops but mostly to remind kids that they had to demand that their parents get them things.

“I don’t know where else to get one,” Cecil said, and Carlos realized it was true. Target had lots and lots of categories of cards – from grandparents to children, from children to parents, from husband to wife, from non-gendered life-mate to hooded figure, but all of them were bereavement cards. “I was thinking we could make a bunch, and send them.” Outgoing mail sometimes worked in Night Vale, if you had an in with the Sheriff’s Secret Police. “And we could all sign them. I’m sure they would want to know how you’re doing,” Cecil said to Isaac.

Isaac stored joyfully tearing apart his breathing piece of salami. “Me? Why?”

Cecil stared at him as if his third, fourth, and fifth eyes were in his head, not on his palms and tail. “Because they care about you. They’re family. I mean, not blood relations, but you’re my brother, and Tom’s my brother, so by the transitive properties of family, he has to care about you. That’s what families _do_.” He looked right back at his boyfriend, his face full of wonder. “Right, Carlos?”

It wasn’t always true. Carlos hadn’t told him that families could be bad, could be dysfunctional, could be un-accepting of your natural biology, or could not really know you at all. Cecil had never had a family to reject him; Isaac had no living relatives that Carlos knew of. This wasn’t a moment to shatter Cecil’s newfound conceptions of how all families were when he was so happy with what he had now. Cecil’s blind acceptance had, at least temporarily, tamed Isaac, who could have died on that road in Santa Cruz.

“Yes,” Carlos answered. “That is what families do.”

The End


End file.
